Perplexities Down Rabbit Holes
by m.peridot
Summary: Reincarnation shenanigans and the train station make for an odd existence, but not much has ever fazed Luna Lovegood. Uchiha or not, she remains oblivious to the rule that her clan must fall to the Curse of Hatred. (By doing so, she pushes the downfall of canon down a hill where it gains momentum, rolling faster and faster until the plot lays shattered in the Valley of the End.)
1. the next great adventure

_the next great adventure_

* * *

It was completely dark inside the cellar.

An old man and a boy knelt on the floor next to the prone body of a young girl. She was breathing heavily, laboured gasps filling the empty coldness of the shadows.

"Luna, please, just hold on till we get free…"

"It's… okay Dean… I… have people… waiting for me… up there." Her smile was serene and peaceful, though there were none to see it in the darkness. "I'm sorry… for leaving… you and… Mr. Ollivander here. Tell.. my Daddy… that I… love him… will you?"

The boy named Dean held her hand tightly, tears streaking down his grimy face. The old man sighed, feeling the weight of his years heavy on his shoulders. It should have been him, not the little girl who would now never reach past her prime.

So the darkness reached in and took the bright soul of Luna Lovegood away before her time.

*I*I*

Luna smiled as she opened her eyes to the pure white that surrounded her.

How odd. She was at a train station.

There was only one other person there. He was wearing a dark cloak, face hidden by the shadow of the hood. The shadows shifted, as if he wasn't completely existent – and perhaps he wasn't. He seemed feathery, like see-through black silk. He turned as she approached him, and Luna was pierced by a pair of familiar emerald eyes.

She frowned a little. They looked very tired.

"There are nargles spinning around your head, Harry," she said.

There was a slight hesitation, as if he had trouble connecting the name to his person. "No one's called me that in a long time."

He sounded so defeated.

She looked at him closely. The ring on his hand, the cloak around his shoulders, the wand stuck through his belt. The bruises under his eyes and the pale, marble skin.

"The Hallows," she said, understanding.

The abrupt change of subject startled a laugh out of him. He leaned against one of the pillars.

"I just want to rest." This was said so softly Luna almost didn't catch it.

She came up to him and gently enclosed one of his cold hands in hers. She traced the marble-like flesh in fascination and curiosity. Peering into the vivid green, she made her decision.

"I'll take it for you."

Harry jerked upright, desperate hope tucked away, unable to break free, in his eyes. She smiled brightly at the look.

He shook his head, slowly, trembling, want battling against a crushing responsibility. "I couldn't do that to you."

"Tell me, did we win the war?"

"Yes." Harry's eyes closed, remembering.

"You saved them." It wasn't a question.

"Not all of them, not enough. I didn't save _you._ "

"Harry, you're not a god. I chose not to be saved."

He look at her, a frightened child gazing out of those old eyes.

"You may have been the hero, may have had a task, but the villains have been defeated. Heroes deserve happy endings."

Her eyes curved into a happy crescent. She slid the ring off his finger and placed it on hers.

"You have friends who are waiting for you."

She slipped the cloak off his shoulders.

"Let me carry your cosmos."

Luna took the wand. It lit up in her hand, a brighter, more comforting glow than the sterile light of the train station. In the warmth of the Elder Wand, Harry looked too vulnerable by himself, so diminished without the cloak. She gave him a light push toward the train.

"Go be happy."

Harry suddenly threw his arms around her.

"Thank you," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Luna hugged him back and then watched as the train pulled away with its sole passenger, a young-old dark haired boy with green, green eyes.

He was laughing.

*I*I*

 _That was brave of you_.

The voice sounded without sounding: her mind registered the words, but her ears did not. It sounded stilted, as if it did not know how to use words, language. It said brave, but Luna quite thought that somehow, it didn't mean that at _all_.

"Bravery is for Gryffindors."

 _The Hallows were never meant to be a burden. Their owners were supposed to be travelers jumping from world to world._

"Harry was tired," Luna commented in a nonchalant voice.

She received the feeling of secondhand guilt and an old regret.

 _He could not hear us. But you, you we can take. Do you agree?_

Luna nodded slowly.

She closed her eyes and let herself be swept away. There was a scent of lily flowers and a too light mist and then nothing.

*I*I*

Luna learned her new name was Uchiha Tsukiko. She rather liked it. (Tsukiko meant child of the moon, and Luna thought it only natural that it translated to her original name.) She now had black wispy hair, but had kept the grey eyes. She was rather relieved – if eyes were the windows into the soul, if she had had different eyes, then would her soul have been blind?

The Uchiha clan as a whole were rather stuffy; she gave a gummy, cheerful smile to one of her caretakers, but they only replied with a minute easing of the stiff rigidity of their face. She crawled to the edge of the doorway and looked out before she was caught and put back into the center of the room.

A sigh was heard as she began crawling again.

"Tsukiko."

She tilted her head, looking back at the person trying to balance a snowstorm of paperwork on the low table, while attempting to write a formal document and take care of a two year old.

Luna plopped down and promptly stuck her wispy hair into her mouth. It tasted… sort of sugary. Hmmm.

Spying a fallen piece of metal, she speed crawled over to it. After inspecting it, she bit it. It was hard. She shook it, perhaps it had an invisible nest of Karfnots infesting it?

Oh. It was rather sharp. And pointy.

She gave the poor, lovely hardwood floor a sincere apology.

The sudden sight of feet (they were extremely nice feet) made her look to the blurry mass standing over her. Two hands came and raised her above the floor, lifting her into a warm lap, and she snuggled into the comfort. She felt the exhale, heard the whoosh, but there was no complaint and the arms tightened minutely around her.

*I*I*

When the footsteps came down the hall and stopped in front of her door, Luna paused reading the book she'd been writing in (it was a history of shinobi, and she was writing theories — currently Madara had several notes by his section; perhaps he had Wrackspurts? They muddled one's head and ideas… ) then, as another thought struck her, she picked up the pen and started again.

The door opened.

A soft gasp. Luna glanced up at her mother who was looking at the walls, or rather the ceiling, with a rather stunned expression.

On the ceiling were three faces, painted in the beautiful brushstrokes that defined Tsukiko's calligraphy. Connecting them were fine golden chains, and if one looked closer, the word _kazoku_ could be seen repeated over and over and over.

Tsukiko's mother stayed for an eternity at the door – simply staring up at the pictures. An unreadable expression flashed across her face, but she didn't ask Luna to repaint the ceiling white. She didn't say anything.

But later, when Tsukiko was asleep, Mikoto softly opened the door and sat down on the bed where her daughter lay. She ran her hand through the child's hair and raised here eyes to where her own face smiled down at the room.

"Oh, Tsukiko-chan…" she murmured, a tinge of despair coating her words – but despair pointed toward nothing tangible. An aimless emotion, and yet overwhelming all the same.

 _Kazoku_ – family, she thought and felt herself torn. Fugaku and Itachi, their features softened, were sketched with clear, precise strokes done with a traditional brush, and Tsukiko had somehow managed to capture the best parts of the two – parts that Mikoto often struggled to see.

She stayed there, next to her child, for a thousand moments, before she rose as silently as she had come and closed the door.

* * *

 **A/N:** In the first scene where Luna is an Uchiha, she is two years old. In the second, she is older – it's actually after the third chapter… I promise that the rest of the chapters won't be as confusing—think of this one as a preview.

Please review—this is my first time writing a crossover and I'd like to understand how I'm doing. What are your thoughts? Did I characterize one of my favorite characters (Luna Lovegood, if you couldn't tell) well?

Thanks for reading!


	2. fireflies and ever shadows

_fireflies and ever shadows_

* * *

 **A/N:** Honestly amazed and surprised by the reception that I've gotten—this is the fastest growing story I have _ever_ written, so thank you to everyone who's currently reading this. I actually started this story two years ago (but what I wrote then was utter crap) so I hopefully won't lose interest anytime soon. Oh, and please review—it tells me which parts are good and can shape the direction that I take the story.

I also do not have a beta-reader, so if you see any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out.

* * *

 _Luna will always wake before the sun and wait patiently for it to rise._

She rose when the house was quiet, the shrouded darkness seeping out from corners where the celestial lights could not reach. Moving outside, to the veranda, she sat, hands folded in her lap, still and silent. This was her time, to breathe and feel.

(This was her time to _remember_.)

The first gradual lightening of the sky brushed away some of the darkness, and with it the stars.

She could feel her family inside the house start to stir, almost painfully aware of the rawness of chakra (if magic was a satisfied cat, then chakra was a cold, sharp mountain wind, tearing at her nerves with a fresh vivacity.)

Luna said goodbyes to the moon and to the vanishing stars, and hellos to the now visible clouds and the sun, who said hello back by showering her with golden warmth.

She giggled softly, absurdly happy—but what happiness is truly absurd?—and leaned back, against the step.

Her brother approached, silent cat steps, and she turned and smiled, and he gave her a small upturn of his lips. She scooted over, made space for him and he sat down and watched her as she in turn watched the sun.

He got up when they heard breakfast being made and offered a hand to Luna, which she took, and they went inside to breakfast.

*I*I*

A scream sounded from inside the room. Then came the muffled groans and the scent of blood.

Luna took out her sketchbook and began to draw.

She was just putting the final touches on her picture of the skylark in flight when two people appeared in the hallway. 'Appeared' denotes that it was a fairly normal entrance, so perhaps 'exploded' was the better word.

"Come ON, Minato! Mikoto is giving birth, dattebane!"

The man being pulled along by the redhead huffed. "Kushina, I was in the middle of an important meeting…"

"NOTHING is more important than this, especially not a stuffy Council meeting!" The woman stopped dragging the blond man when they came to the door. "The nurse did say room 412, right?"

The blond man nodded slowly and tried not to flinch as another agonized groan came from within. Suddenly, the door looked a lot more ominous…

Kushina looked down at the tiny girl in the hallway. "Oh, hello, Tsukiko-chan! Are you here for the baby too?"

She look up at the older woman and nodded. Kushina-san was one of her mother's best friends, but she has only seen the excitable woman once or twice. She reminded her of Ginny, what with the fire hair and all.

"Nice drawing, dattebane!" Then she disappeared inside. The scent of blood leak out in greater quantities and the blond man opted to stay firmly outside the Door of Doom. Looking down at the girl his wife had greeted, Minato crouched down by the child

"Tsukiko-chan, was it? It's very nice to meet you."

"You mean it," Luna observed. She was rather surprised at the sincerity. Most people, she knew from experience, did not mean their greetings. "You're too nice to be a Hokage."

He smiled. His smile was really bright. Like a firefly, or a cloud, or lightning in the most frightening of storms. She liked it immensely.

He sat down next to her and let out a tiny sigh, and Luna was saw the smile fade. Hokage—it wasn't a very comfortable throne. In fact, she thought that it might have made the people on it rather miserable.

"Minato-san, don't worry about the secrets or impossible problems."

(Because somehow she _knew_ , somehow she could feel the darkness of the highest position in Konoha.)

She wanted the smile back, wanted the sun in all its glory and warmth, instead of the cloudy worry. Luna had seen that sort of worry too much on Harry when faced with a great burden. She didn't want the man who smiled so brightly to have that expression too.

Minato looked rather startled.

"Can you read me so easily?"

Her lips tilted up. "Minato-san, you have a firefly's smile. Shadows melt with light and the light makes the shadows more bearable. "

Luna looked down, her grey eyes on the notebook she held as she sketched the outlines of Minato's smile.

"Fireflies are stars that have fallen to the ground so that we may hope to reach them someday. Don't worry, though the shadows will always be there, there are many fireflies too. With that light, you can see the space in from of you; you won't trip, promise."

*I*I*

Luna looked over the railing of the hospital bed to peek at her new brother. Dark hair, like all of the Uchiha. She grinned, thinking of Ginny complaining about everyone in her extended family having the same shade of carrot hair. She had told her that she rather liked ginger, and Ginny had blushed.

(She had never had a younger sibling to take care of. It was rather an odd feeling, as if a cloud has passed through her head.)

"Hello, Sasuke-chan. Welcome to this world," Luna whispered to her younger brother.

The baby and Kaa-san were both tired out from the ordeal, and Sasuke was sleeping while Mikoto drowsed, half awake. Luna sat down on a chair next to them. Her father had already collapsed on the other side of the bed, and a medic was tending to his crushed hand.

About an hour later, Itachi was released from school so he could greet his younger brother.

"Hello, Ototo."

Itachi smiled quietly at their younger brother's eyes opened and sleepily blinked at him. Then Sasuke burst into tears and began wailing. Luna beamed at her brother, who continued to look in wonder at the bawling infant.

It took several minutes to get the baby to calm down, and Mikoto began to feed him when he finished crying.

Itachi noticed Tsukiko, and walked around the bed to greet her. He poked her forehead and she giggled.

"Hello, Kiko-chan. How was your day?"

She held open her notebook and showed him her sketches. Both the skylark and the man with the firefly light. They were in light pencil, but Luna thought that she might add watercolor later.

"Oh, you met Hokage-sama."

"Hai. He had the nicest smile."

Itachi ruffled her shoulder length hair, making it more frazzled than it already was and dislodging the Wrackspurts from the strands.

"How was your day, Nii-san?"

"Good. I think that I will be able to graduate by the end of this term." He looked at her seriously. "I want you to take care of Sasuke when I get sent on missions. Can you promise me that?"

"Of course. Don't be sad all the time and remember to look for fireflies."

Itachi nodded solemnly. "I'll try."

Satisfied, Luna tucked her hand into Itachi's and turned to watch her little brother.


	3. impact

_impact_

* * *

Luna couldn't breathe. A vicious chakra smothered her, the biting wind had turned into a hurricane she was unprepared for.

It felt almost like the dementors' presence, but while the dementors had been cold, this was vicious and burning. She gasped, trying to catch her breath. Distantly, she heard Sasuke crying, and then Itachi comforting him.

She crammed her feet into sandals as she ran outside and beheld the Nine Tails.

The Fox was huge, rising into the heavens as if to brush the stars with its own flames. A crimson, corrosive aura and a snarl that shook her, making her break out in a cold sweat. Its eyes were crazed, taken over, and Luna—

She wanted to curl up into a ball and hide, but something inside of her _needed_ to get closer. The Kyuubi was destroying everything, it was _dangerous_ , but something inside of her screamed at her to go. So she ran.

No one saw her as she slipped through the gates and out into the burning city. Her chakra cycled through her muscles, aiding unconsciously. A burning beam fell too close and she jerked back and doubled around and _she didn't have time, she needed to reach—_

Desperate, Luna tried to run faster, faster, it was too far away…

(What _it_ was she didn't know, just felt a sense of dread greater than the malice of the Nine Tails.)

And then there was a familiar feeling surging through her body, a squeezing feeling, as if she were being turned inside out—

And with a crack, she Apparated.

She arrived on the fringes of a clearing, _where the hurricane was slicing into her skin as she coughed up blood_ , feeling a sense of horrible vertigo—as if she were at the edge of the world and falling into a void of nonexistence. The world she was in didn't seem to take kindly to a magic user. Her smile was thin and sharp, a strained thing as she threw up a crimson wave.

She arrived just in time to see Kushina chain the Demon Fox.

Her eyes hurt, she wanted, she _wanted_ —she could see the blood dripping out of the redhead's mouth—Kushina wouldn't be able to hold the fox back for much longer.

In that moment, she was driven to her knees by a surge of unwellness. Luna coughed, dry, hacking coughs, and more blood stained the grass. Her magic felt contaminated, her eyes weren't focusing. She heard Kushina and Minato talking, but the sounds blended together, and she couldn't make out the words.

Then Minato began to make handseals, flashing through in an act of desperation. He finished, and smoke began to appear behind him.

It solidified into a visage of a man in a cloak.

A man with green eyes.

A man she had last seen four years ago, when she had died for the first time.

She stepped forward, and time slowed, stilled, and green eyes snapped to her small, bloodstained form.

"Harry?"

"... Luna? What are you doing here?"

In a flash, she understood that the train station had not happened yet for him. (Time was odd and never a constant—Harry had spent an eternity and no time at all acting as Shinigami.)

"Chasing nargles. Why are you here?"

"He summoned me to seal the demon inside of him."

"No…" she whispered. She closed her eyes in pain, _not again_. "What's the price?"

"His soul. I'm sorry Luna."

She opened her eyes again. They were shining with unshed tears. "Please take care of him, Harry."

A ghostly hand reached out and brushed against her cheek.

"I will, I promise."

Time sped back up.

Harry reached his hand through the Hokage and dragged half of the Demon Fox into Minato, sealing it to die with the man who smiled.

The fox shrunk to half its size, and Kushina's chains loosened—the Fox roared outrage, and its scream pierced Luna, pierced her thought—Minato arched his back with the pain of the sealing and Luna could only watch horrified as a ritual altar appeared and Minato put a baby, _no_ (Luna's eyes widened) _his_ baby, on its surface.

But the fox was moving. Toward the child.

"MINATO-SAN!" Luna screamed.

Their movements so fast they blurred past time, Minato and Kushina threw themselves in front of their baby.

The claw of the Kyuubi sliced straight through them and stopped inches away from their child. They were never more beautiful, never more horrific, never more awe-inspiring, than in that moment. It was the height of the climax in the play and the actors were arrayed perfectly (horrifyingly), completing an invisible contract.

Luna rushed towards them, ignoring the pain from the contamination of her magic. Her eyes began to glow red, a lazily spinning black dot in each one of them and she began to weep.

(Chakra began to drain, her use of it leading dangerously low, her lifeforce seeping out as she burned the scene into her memory.)

Harry watched the proceedings with a heavy heart and inscrutable eyes. (There had been another pair, a long time ago, that had made the same sacrifice, for the same reasons. He had never met them, but perhaps…)

She reached them, gasping, her body about to collapse.

"Tsuki-chan? What are you doing here?"

It was Minato, the blood dripping from his lips which twitched up into a light smile despite the scene (and Luna could almost believe that they were in the hospital), his breathing ragged.

"Minato-san…" she whispered.

He smiled tiredly. "Thank you for your words. I don't think that I ever thanked you for that day."

Luna smiled back, soft and sad.

Kushina grinned at her and began to tell her son her last instructions. Luna listened, every word branded into her mind, so she could tell the baby when he grew up.

"Ano, Tsuki-chan? Could you pass on a message for me?"

She nodded. Blue eyes held steady as he struggled to get the words out, as he tried to quell the coughing.

"Tell Kakashi Hatake, the Copy-nin, that it wasn't his fault and that I thought of him as a son… Tell him that I love him… and to reach out to others. Tell him… not to drown himself, and that the rule book is not always right… and to be careful and to live. Could… you please do that… for me?"

Luna looked up at him with weeping crimson eyes and promised.

Minato sighed, a release of some sorts, and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them. They were filled with a new sort of determination now.

"Thank you, Uchiha Tsukiko."

Kushina leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder. Her voice was softer, quieter than Luna had ever heard from the loud, exuberant redhead.

"I'm sorry Minato, I used up all the time we had left."

He merely smiled and said, "It's okay… Hello, Naruto. It's your dad; listen to your motor-mouth mother for me… I love you."

Kushina look a little desperately to Luna.

"Tsukiko-chan, could you please tell him we loved him?"

She nodded, promising.

Kushina bared her teeth, a sharp, fanged thing of defiance, and hardened her eyes.

"Now."

Minato brought his arms around Kushina and touched their son's stomach.

"Eight-Trigram-Seal!"

Luna saw Harry help Minato finish the seal when it wasn't quite complete and draw the Demon Fox into it. She watched as the black shapes appeared on the baby's—no, _Naruto's_ , skin—and she watched as he began to cry. She watched as Minato and Kushina fell when the claw of the Kyuubi disappeared and as the Third Hokage rushed in. She watched as Kushina asked him to protect her baby and as she told the old man her son's name.

And she saw Harry, looking so _so_ tired yet also bittersweet, take his payment. As he gathered the parents' souls, he moved past Luna before he disappeared, touching, for a moment, his forehead to hers, comforting in a way only someone who knew her pain better than she herself did could. He gave her a warmth from _home_ , from _her world_.

Luna took a deep shuddering breath, her eyes flickering back to normal. Her chakra levels were almost spent, and she swayed, lightheaded and awfully sad.

It was then that the Third noticed her.

"Child! What are you doing here?"

For a moment, Luna smiled sadly: that was the third time that question had been asked of her that night.

Then she lifted her face.

"There was a Death God."

She looked up at the stars. Harry had _promised_.

"And a Fox Lord."

She sighed. The Nine Tails had been deathly terrifying, menacing, in a fatal, too real manifestation of a demon.

"Minato-san became a firefly, and Kushina-san laughed with her last moments."

There had been a terrible beauty in the scene.

"And then there was an emptiness."

The Third looked at her with weary eyes.

"What is your name?"

"Uchiha Tsukiko."

But that wasn't her name; her name was Luna, and she was named for a goddess.

"How did you come here?"

"I held onto Minato-san."

The Third thought Hirashin, but Luna knew that it was her magic that had latched onto Minato-san's soul. That she had felt the Master of Death, and _her friend_ , and wished upon a thousand fireflies.

The Third took her, leaving behind a shadow clone to take his place, before anyone else could wonder at the small, bloodstained child.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's all for the absurdly fast updates. These were prewritten chapters, and while I do have the basic outline of the next decade or so of Tsukiko/Luna's life, I will have to actually sit down and write them. The next chapter will hopefully be up in a week, but beyond that? We'll see.

(Also, I tend to write as a form of escapism from the horrors of real life, but unfortunately, pragmatism demands that I take care of my overwhelming responsibilities. This might lead to me not getting around to writing as much, so feel free to review and ask that I update if it has been longer than two weeks—but please don't ask before that. Oh and please review in general too! It make me happy.)


	4. palaces in clouds

_palaces in clouds_

* * *

The heady scent of crushed flowers filled the air—the tremors from the Kyuubi's thrashing had caused the shop to be thrown into disarray, strewn petals and smashed vases. Water pooled in the cracks and ran red down the street.

But the structure itself was sound, and that in itself was a blessing.

The Third opened the door, a baby in his arms, and a child by his side, and when he expected Inoshi, he found the son instead.

A man with pale blond hair (and Luna felt a pang in her chest and wondered if the Ngalarics were there to stay now) was standing in the midst of the chaos, a dead look in his eyes, his hands clenched. When the bell rang and the door opened, he turned to greet them, a forced look of learned pleasantness on his face.

(He set aside his grief, cleared his mind; there would be time yet for mourning.)

"Lord Third."

"Yamanaka Inoichi." The implication was heavy with the rusted scepter of the two words, almost accusing in that day of tragedies. The command was present, weighing time in moments of breath. _Report._

"My father is dead, you will not find him here." Inhale and exhale.

"Then, Inochi, as the Head of the Yamanaka clan and of T&I, you will do the task… The Fourth is dead, killed while sealing the Fox…"

Inoichi could only look at him blankly. Minato, dead? Because they all had believed him the sun and an immortal. Because he was their hope, their glory, and they had fought for him. It could not be; it defied the order of things, and something had been thrown horribly askew; reality tilted and righted itself, but in compensating for the instability it had lost its core.

(but he had known when the Third came, because there was no other reason that he would carry a newborn, no other reason for the weariness on his face.)

So he listened and obeyed.

So he breached the mind of a child without complaint, with immediate compliance.

In an instant, he was surrounded by white, which cleared to show a castle of immense proportions. The towers rose above him and stretched to the sky. It was night, as it was outside in the destruction of the Kyuubi's attack, and the stars hung too low to the earth, coldly burning.

(He thought, with detached incredulity, that for a child of four, no, for any _normal_ human being, this level of structure and construction of the mind was impossible. There was too much detail, too much _realness_.)

"Hello."

He looked to the side and found the girl looking at him steadily.

"Is this your mind?"

Luna raised her arms and twirled, and her dress lengthened, floated, bleached. Her hair lightened to a white cloud, and she gazed solemnly at the stars. At bright Mars and the constellation's tragedies.

He raised an eyebrow.

"This is the castle, shinobi-san. Come, or we will be late for the feast."

He let himself be led away, he let himself forget the horrors of the night, and he did not know why. As a shinobi, he should have completed the mission at all cost, because the Third needed to know what the child had seen, but somehow, this urgency had faded with the dream of a magic castle and the starry night. (In a delusion of a side-time, of a place only existent in a half tangible way.)

So he followed.

She lead them to a carriage, pulled by the scepters of horses, opened the door and waited for him. She sat down by him, and suddenly she was wearing black robes and carried a magazine.

They rode in silence, and the child read upside down the magazine and smiled. He looked out the window at the great lake and the ripples of creatures that lay beneath and felt a measure of deathly calm steal over him. The ripples retreated past sight, but he continued to sightlessly observe.

They arrived at the gates, which opened without noise as they disembarked.

The castle was eerily silent. Their footsteps ghosted, whispering to the castle, which seemed to _breathe_.

The corridor opened up in to a cavernous hall. Candles floated, burning with too much intensity and saturating the space with light, and four long tables stood, waiting to be filled, and Inoichi could almost see the imprints of those past who would have stayed in those seats.

A feast was indeed laid out for them. The gold opulence was uncomfortable, too real—the food seemed to pale in comparison. Inoichi knew then that there would be no breaking of bread; rather a raising of glasses and oblivion.

The child—Tsukiko—motioned to the stage, where an old, tattered hat sat on a three legged, unsteady stool.

Somehow Inoichi found himself young; a genin again, bare and vulnerable (without his team). He walked to the centerstage, trembling in anticipation and a hint of dread.

And then the Hat slipped over his eyes.

A thoughtful, judging darkness.

" _Loyalty first and foremost; a given, the obvious—but never let it be said that I Sort by the surface. No, the loyalty is a staple for your culture; what makes_ you _different, Yamanaka Inoichi?"_

He gripped the sides of the chair. Gritting his teeth at the intrusion into his mind, he stopped short of ripping the hat off—he had the oddest feeling that it was a test.

" _Perceptive, and you'd do well, you'd_ rise _, if you had ambition—but you do not. You have stayed in T &I hidden, the brilliant shinobi, underestimated as only an interrogator. You rival Nara Shikaku in cleverness, save that you work with people and he works with strategy, with game pieces. You know politics, yet keep the status quo, keeping to the shadows except when the peace has been threatened."_

 _I have no interest in revolution; I am content._

" _If not ambition, then bravery? intelligence? But again, you are content."_

 _Yes._

" _So we come back to loyalty—which is both the surface and the underneath. Loyalty to Konoha, but if that is the surface… you have no reason to be loyal to Konoha. You are loyal to your teammates. You are not loyal to the Hokage; you are loyal to your friends—you would have risen for your sun, for the_ Kiiroi Senko _; for him you could have been great…."_

His eyes burned. _Yes. For him I would have followed into the heavens._

" _And so you pass, Yamanaka Inoichi."_

And there was a moment of horrifying blankness.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The girl smiled, and her eyes were very sad.

"Inoichi-san, do you believe in fireflies?"

And suddenly they were at a table for two, spinning spinning _spinning._ The wineglasses were half filled, a light dinner, too small a portion to fill any appetite, was set out. He was dressed in a formal dark blue kimono, and she wore white again. The candles descended to the floor and stayed like so many stars, lightening the pressing darkness.

They talked, and maybe it was only an hour, or perhaps a year, and if you asked Yamanaka Inoichi, he would not be able to tell you of what they spoke.

(but his heart had lightened, and he could lift his head to meet the grey eyes of the impossible girl on the other side.)

By the time the candles burned to stubs, an indeterminate amount of moments, he had seen the memory of that terrible sealing and Minato's last words and gained access to an S-ranked secret. He had seen the Shinigami and knew that their Death God was tired and weary, bound by laws that he could not control.

And he realized that he could not tell the Third. Because this child was not a child of _this_ world. Because she was perhaps more than human. Because he wasn't loyal to (he didn't trust) Sarutobi Hiruzen…

And because she reminded him too much of Minato's brightness.

* * *

 **A/N:** In case you couldn't figure out Luna's age, she is currently around five years old. I actually wrote this scene maybe ten times over—I've had this mind-reading idea since two years ago, but it _really_ looked different then. I depicted Luna as too manipulative with her memories, screwed up on characterization, and well… let's just say that it was a disappointment and leave it at that. I hope you liked how it ended up!

(Also, would you like a short bonus scene depicting Minato meeting Harry? I've had a few ideas for quite some time so if anyone is interested…)

Below are some of Yamanaka Inoichi's thoughts on the Fourth Hokage, which were actually some of my notes for this chapter.

* * *

 _Yamanaka Inoichi and fireflies_

* * *

Namikaze Minato had always inspired absolute devotion in those who knew him.

It went deeper than love, a willingness to go out in a blaze of glory for the chance to stand with him, to be bright enough for him.

And Yamanaka Inoichi found himself on his knees, bowing, accepting the hand that said " _Work with me, for we will be change. We will be the generation of revolutions."_

They were young then, and Minato had taken the fire cloak and the Hokage's seat and with him brought the other chan heirs and heads of his time to the front. The Ino-Shika-Cho trio, the Hyuuga twins, the Uchiha couple, the trackers of the Inuzuka and Aburame. They had come through the war triumphant and soul weary; high on adrenaline but with a grimness of war hanging in their shadows.

Inoichi had never wanted to play the games of the powerful. He was not content, (not _really),_ but the acceptance had driven into his bones and defined him. He had meant to fade; the darkness of T&I was often forgotten, like ANBU, and he had never dared to long until Minato.

Because Minato wore his belief like the blinding sun, he called to them all, and they had answered. Shikaku had lifted his head, never once complaining, and his eyes had intent burning in them; Chouza had donned his armor, had become faster, stronger, fighting for him—and that was when Inoichi had been lost to the bright smile and the crystal eyes.

(This was not a romantic love, nor the love of brothers, this was a burning need of loyalty and trust. This was hope and expectation. This was belief in a god, this was _faith_.)

And he found himself rising, using his words as weapons, his perception as a senbon—and he found himself in the Hokage's inner circle, his teammates by his side, swearing fealty. He found himself clearing the way with compromises and bribes and whispered promises for the changes that were to come. Because no one played politics as well as he did and because Minato _needed him_.

It was a generation that would have made the world quake—indeed they had already started—

But then Namikaze Minato _died_.

He died a hero's death, but Konoha did not need heroes, _Konoha needed a living god_.

And so their circle broke, and they looked at each other and wondered with a despair, because where was their light now?

Some left in disgust—Uchiha Fugaku, in angered grief, secluded himself, driven further by the village's suspicions.

Some left in a quiet atheism—Hyuuga Hiashi saw Kumo take his twin and wondered when he had ever believed.

Shikaku stayed, out of duty and obligation—he had been, and _continued to be_ , the Hokage's closest advisor, but it was no longer _his Hokage_ and the always-apathy returned to his eyes.

And Inoichi?

Inoichi let himself fade.


	5. trust and deceptions

_trust and deceptions_

* * *

 **A/N:** Awed and stunned at the response this story had gotten pretty much describes me this week. Thank you so much for supporting me! Enjoy and please review...

* * *

"…I can't tell you why Minato brought her along—perhaps he simply didn't have time to set her down somewhere safe— but she was in shock in the middle of the burning street when he saved her."

His voice was blank, professional. He was reporting to his superior—telling him the absolute truth, for anything less would not be tolerated. (He was deceiving his superior—telling him a lie to hide reality, for anything less would not be tolerated.)

"She has no ill-intent towards Konoha?"

A question of wartime, for they were at war.

"No. She's still in shock, and I doubt that she will understand or remember most of the last few hours."

(She would remember the last few hours with the utmost clarity.)

(It was the curse of _those_ eyes.)

The Third nodded sharply. "Good."

Inoichi watched dully as Sarutobi Hiruzen created a kage bunshin to take the girl, himself carrying the baby, and shunshinned out of the broken flower shop in silence.

Then the many masks dropped and he dropped into a chair, hands covering his face as he finally let his tears fall—for his father, for _his Hokage_ and the child he left behind, for a little girl with cloudy eyes.

*I*I*

Mikoto opened the door, her face harried and weary, and looked without recognition at the Third. Slowly her eyes traveled down to her child, unconscious in the Third's arms.

"… Lord Third."

He silently handed her her daughter, who began to stir in her arms.

"She was found wandering."

His eyes were accusing and Mikoto shuddered deep inside—the Third had inherited his sensei's distrust of the Uchiha, and while he put on the grandfather _facade_ , she knew better than to ever trust it.

 _Everybody lies_.

(The Third disgusted her. He was too cowardly to acknowledge his own shortcomings and left the dirty work to Danzo. He would never admit to his own discrimination against the Uchiha, but it lay there, ignored and festering. But he was her superior, so she bent her head, so she kept quiet; there was never _proof_ and what could she accuse the venerated Hokage of? She had hoped with Minato—but no. What use was there in hoping in a dead man? Kushina, dear Kushina—)

(In a week, Mikoto would demand custody of Kushina's child and be coolly denied. Hurt and _furious_ she would see the bright child, _Kushina's_ child, become a pariah. Whenever she would attempted to approach the blond, blue-eyed boy, she would be redirected, sometimes forcibly, by hidden ANBU. So she too would nurse a bitter resentment, so she too would watch, distant, as the Uchiha _seethed_.)

Tsukiko opened her grey eyes, and Mikoto was struck with the thought those eyes not of the Uchiha. Their shape, the curiosity was all wrong.

 _What an awful thought to have of her own child._

"Thank you, Lord Third." Her voice did not tremble, though she wished that this day were wiped from existence.

The Third put his hands together in a seal and dispelled, leaving behind acrid smoke and a lingering mistrust.

Mikoto gently put her child down, and once she was sure of Tsukiko's steadiness, she sent her to bed. Because she could not be a mother, not that night, not when her best friend lay dead to the Fox, not when her Hokage had perished, not when she was fighting the urge to break.

So she poured herself a glass of wine and drank to the dead.

*I*I*

"Nii-chan…"

A pair of hands, already too calloused (too small to be so scarred), tugged her onto the bed, and there was warmth.

"Minato-san, he—"

A sob and ugly, muffled crying.

"I know, Imouto, I know."

A voice of quiet despair.

*I*I*

The days after the Kyuubi attack were hell.

Public outrage and grief drove the secret and subsequent taboo out of the Third, who looked much too weary to be leading a Hidden Village. Distraught civilians and shinobi called for blood, for retribution—for there not to be a concrete representation which they could blame, could fight against, was _wrong_. (Before there had always been an enemy— Iwa, Kumo, the shinobi across the field, their opponents—they was someone to blame, there was a way to overcome, to deal retribution. But now, the Third had said the Kyuubi defeated, but there was no victory, there was no satisfaction or peace. After all, what was the Kyuubi but caged?)

So they turned against the jinchuuriki and the Uchiha.

(The infighting within the Council on the subject of the jinchuuriki's lodging and training led to a complete stalemate, and so the "weapon" or "hero" was shoved into an apartment with a permanent ANBU guard. Neither party were happy, but there were more _pressing_ things than the status of the Fox and its container. The Kyuubi had been neutralized; other threats to Konoha's stability had not been.)

A week after the Attack, the Fourth's funeral and a memorial for all those who had fallen was held in the center of Konoha. The village went into mourning and the scent of despair hung like the Sword of Damocles above the Leaf.

Iwa celebrated, a vindictive glee.

Suna, Kiri and Kumo watched like hawks, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

Kusa filled with a grim satisfaction.

(But throughout the the shinobi villages was sense of profound emptiness—for the Fourth had been brilliant, addicting to watch and perpetually drawing attention. The hollow left by him was huge; there was a sense of foiled anticipation, of a scrutiny that had not born fruit, of a blinding future that could-have-been.)

* * *

 **A/N:** Remember that Uchiha Mikoto is an _unreliable_ narrator. While this does not mean that she is completely wrong, it means that you should be aware of bias in her telling of the story.

(The Minato and Harry scene has almost been finalized… it will appear in _after the impact_ , i.e. the next chapter.)

And since I needed to vent about Mikoto, here is extra analysis on her role in the canon and the story that you may or may not want to read.

* * *

 _Uchiha Mikoto and what she is due_

* * *

First and foremost, the thing that bothers me most about Uchiha Mikoto was that she wasn't given Naruto after Kushina died (if not outright given, at least she should have had contact with him). They were _best friends_ —she wouldn't have just ignored him. (Couldn't have just ignored him—Naruto was the pariah, the prankster, was loud and obnoxious and _there.)_

Of course, we could take the boring route and assume that Mikoto was like the rest of the village, and couldn't look at Naruto without seeing the Fox—doubly painful for her because the Fox is what killed Kushina—but this doesn't make sense on a few levels.

One, I highly doubt that Mikoto didn't know about the jinchuuriki status that Kushina held, or even if she didn't, _Kushina was an expert on seals_. Screw Minato—Kushina, if she wasn't already proficient in seals, would have studied like hell after her village burned and her people were massacred. You _cannot_ tell me that a child who had had her village destroyed wouldn't want to preserve every bit of its legacy. So either way, Mikoto knows a fair bit about seals. She _knows_ that when the Third says "container" he _means it._ She probably also heard of B of Kumogakure during the war—I know Minato fought him. And B is an example of a well-adjusted jinchuuriki, one with a good seal, and if Mikoto didn't believe that Minato and Kushina would use the safest seal on their newborn, then she really _didn't know them at all_.

Two, Mikoto is described as a "very gentle and kind woman" and "a very good mother" (taken from Narutopedia). How exactly does someone with those traits _hate a little boy_? Especially _a little boy who was the son of her best_ (or if not best, then at least _very good_ ) _friend?_ Yeah, no. I refuse to believe that a character with those personality traits would outright ignore an abused child (the villagers aren't exactly subtle—there's no way that she missed the malice that they held towards Naruto).

Three, from how she speaks about Uchiha Fugaku she very much understands responsibility and power (or rather "understood the importance of his position as the Uchiha clan leader and was a dutiful and loyal wife to him"). So she probably understands Minato's decision and would have wanted to uphold his wish that his son be thought of as a hero.

That brings me to several conclusions.

Either Mikoto, after the Kyuubi attack, stayed holed up in the clan compound, never going out because of the villager's suspicions, and therefore _didn't know about Naruto_ , and thought that Kushina's child had perished in the attack…

Or she was prevented from initiating contact.

I know that politically, it would probably be a horrendously bad move to give the jinchuuriki to the Uchiha, who were already under suspicion. (It would either make the suspicion and fear _worse_ , or the Council would vehemently protest the move. There is the other thought that maybe putting Naruto with the Uchihas would be seen as a sign of trust—it honestly depends on how they'd spin it. But you know that with Danzo, who was _taught by the Second,_ who _hated_ the Uchiha, the chance of that plan screwing up would unfortunately be _high_.) But honestly, what stopped Mikoto from inviting Naruto in to have a meal or from defending him or otherwise becoming a good semi-parental influence on him? I can only conclude that someone higher up stopped her.

(Of course, I'm filling in plot holes now; honestly, for a shinobi village, the higher ups are stupid. They handle the jinchuuriki with bad planning and don't really give him any ties to the village. If Naruto had had any other personality, I honestly think he would have ended up on the Gaara end of the spectrum. Just without the voices.)

(Also the chance that Mikoto didn't know Naruto's parentage is absurdly low. She knew Kushina was pregnant—they talked about their children being friends—and knew that Kushina and Minato were married. And Naruto bear a _really_ uncanny resemblance to Minato…)

Other, more crackish, out there thoughts are that Mikoto had any memories of Kushina having a child erased—or maybe her whole relationship with Kushina—by the Yamanaka. Or she had memory loss during the Kyuubi attack. Or that she was put under a genjutsu. Or maybe she suppressed all thoughts about Kushina because it was too painful, or she was in denial.

Perhaps she was replaced with an alien or a robot that fulfilled the place of good mother. Perhaps she was died during the Kyuubi attack and Sasuke's memories of her are delusions.

(Feel free to take any of these [rather absurd] ideas as your own if you want to write them.)


	6. after the impact

_after the impact_

* * *

Luna knew that she had to find Hatake Kakashi in the same way that she knew Nargles infested mistletoe.

That said, she hadn't a clue as to where he might be.

(Nobody knew, in those days after the Attack, where those outside of family [and sometimes not even they] were, or even if they were yet alive. The Uchiha also did not care for Hatake Kakashi—he had their kinsman's eye under his headband, and dying wish or not, they had jealously guarded the secrets of their dojutsu since the Warring Clans Era.)

But perhaps it was fate, perhaps a kind of " _wyrd"_ (as her first father would have called it), that she, in all her wanderings, happened upon a tree and the Dog, a half a year after the Attack. (It was a cloudy day, and Luna was glad, glad that the blue of the sky did not match a dead man's eyes or a lost infant, glad that she would not feel a clenching in her heart when she glimpsed the sapphire…)

She had scented iron and thought it odd that trees bled, before she had looked up and seen a wounded figure on a tree branch. She climbed up (it took awhile, for the tree was very tall—taller than any tree that she had ever seen in her first world—it spanned five stories with a trunk as big as the Knight Bus) because she was curious of such a person, curious of something undefinable… (Her magic curled around her, a kitten looking for a heat source, and purred. She was warmed, though the spring rains had not ceased and the wind still drew tentative icy circles on her skin.)

"Hello."

The figure startled, and then a weak attempt to evade. She inched closer, as to a stray cat, but when she saw him clearer, she thought him a dog who had lost his owner…

Luna traced the cracked mask, the red and black lines, as one eye looked wary and tired, roving over her face, memorising and categorizing. The other was hidden under a scar and a too-deep sadness. A shock of silver hair escaped the hood, shredded as it was, and the body molded itself into the tree's shadows.

"Who are you?" (and oh, Luna thought that it was the worst infestation of Croiacks that she'd ever heard.) An involuntary groan dripped out of the corner of the painted black lines.

"Luna."

"Rhuna?"

"Shinobi-san, you have an infestation of Croiacks."

The masked shifted a bit, porcelain crumbling. "Is it dangerous?"

(Such an absent-minded tone, as if the speaker did not care the answer. It reminded Luna of a cloud-white and not-quite-there friends who were too tired. It reminded Luna of a rushing, roaring noise, of a deafening whistle and jade green, of skeletal hands and apologies. She wondered where they were now, when they were now, with whom they were with…She hoped happiness and reached a tendril of magic to touch the red strands that had tangled around her neck.)

"Runa?" Aah. There were Wrackspurts circling her mind again… she shook her head to dislodge them. The masked Dog had asked a question.

"Yes, but only to the heart."

"Maa, that's alright then." Breaths came in shallow pants through the mask, and Luna trailed fingertips around the crimson. It began to rain; the sky growing ever darker, the branches of the Hashirama trees becoming slippery with pink-tinged drops—

Lightning shocked the scene—took a snapshot of startled faces—glanced off the branch above them, shattering into a million sparks—there must have been a tremendous noise, but oddly enough, Luna couldn't hear anything but a numbing silence.

And she was falling.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the short update, real life caught up to me, and I honestly couldn't get past my writer's block. I wanted to make this scene perfect, because I love both of these characters, but every _single_ time I rewrote, characterizations only seemed to get worse…

(I'd also like to mention that I add the Author's Notes at the end of the chapter proper—the other, extra scenes are not part of the main story and do not need to be read to understand the story's progression. I add the Notes here in order to both mark the finished chapter and to make sure that my thoughts on the _chapter_ are read without confusement of the extra scene in the way.)

To offset the disappointment of the length of this chapter, here is a short one-shot about Minato and Harry:

* * *

 _Minato Namikaze and the entity who called themself Death_

* * *

Namikaze Minato woke up to a softer white than the sterile of the hospital and instantly knew he was dead. (Minato had always been too rational, to the point that on the battlefield he was always in absolute control. They may have called him _Kiiroi Senko_ , but they ever first described his cold crystal eyes. They were the eyes of a machine, the eyes of a god damning the killing ground and all in it to hell.)

He sat up slowly, looked down and saw, as if he were distanced, the gaping crimson in the middle of his stomach. There was no pain, just a tinge of numbness, of an anesthetic.

He was in a hall with an arched roof and two strange roads of iron running through the middle of the floor, extending out into both an unknown vastness that was somehow both dark and inexplicably light. Somehow he felt drawn to the edge of the marble, to the verge of that path—

Minato wrenched his gaze away with a frown. While he didn't feel any ill intent from the urge, he felt disquieted—there had been no genjutsu placed on him, no surge of chakra…

It was then that he noticed the entity who was not truly there. (Perhaps if he looked closely enough, matter would flicker, like a genjutsu only half applied…)

"Not many people actually notice me. I can see why Luna liked you…"

Minato's stance was still open, still relaxed, but his eyes began to frost. "Who are you?"

The being flickered—truly flickered, not shunshin nor hiraishin, but simply a partial dematerialization, and they appeared only a meter from the Fourth. To his surprise, the not-there _thing_ was shorter than he was (not that it made them any less imposing; there was something odd, not _quite_ there, about those vivid green eyes. They scrutinized him, looking into his soul, desperately searching for _something_.)

"Shinigami, I suppose you'd call me. I was the one called when you summoned the Death God to seal the Kyuubi."

And suddenly, Minato could see the skeleton, the tattered robes, as if pulled across space, catching on planets and stars; he could put a name to the disquiet. _Dread._

The Shinigami grinned, and there was something hollow about the look, as if they were only going through learned behaviors, as if they didn't understand the emotion that drove such feeling. There was something inherently desolate about their transience.

"Am I here for an eternity then?"

"No."

"That was the original price." There was something accusatory in Minato's voice, a demand that rules, that contracts be followed, and a quiet unease that this _being_ would disregard something that he had paid his life, no _,_ his _soul_ for.

"No. My successor seems to have taken a liking to you. They have placed their mark on you, and it is not one that I can easily remove, nor am I particularly inclined to. So you will ride the train."

"Successor?"

"I cannot say. They may not exist yet; time follows its own rule in these realms." The Shinigami looked frustrated, as though they were unable to see clearly (as though _prevented_ from seeing clearly) as they told him of their successor.

Minato was silent, but oddly, the mention of the Shinigami's successor did not create the same dread that hung around the being facing him. Instead, he felt that they must be an old friend… as if he had known them many eons…

"Where do I go now?"

The Shinigami glanced at the iron roads, a look (perhaps the only genuine look that Minato had happened to see on their face) of hungry, desperate longing passing for a shadow across the too-vivid green.

"You will ride the train."

And in that moment a great calamitous sound filled the hall, a horn and a call to battle, it stirred the heart, drew it towards the great red black beast of machinery that appeared from the eternal roads closer and closer. It was awe-inspiring, and Minato felt a spark of anticipation, as if he were coming back to his village from the battlefront, coming _home._

And with a screeching, grinding noise the machine slid to a stop. On the side of the metal structure was a door that hissed open; fog and a vague scent of wildness spilled out. The Shinigami inclined their head to Minato, gestured to the train without looking, eyes piercing _him_ instead.

"Good luck."

And somehow, Minato felt that the half-there figure truly meant the sentiment, truly wished him well…

"You as well."

There was a moment of shock, of complete unpreparedness, and the Shinigami reeled; Minato swung himself onto the great metal beast. An instant of liminality caught the scene—a time before leaving, before the return to the dreaded silence—and perhaps something had lightened as well, perhaps the Shinigami seemed more real, more concrete, more _there._

 _"You mean it."_

Then the train was gone and the station remained.


	7. untold warnings of remmebrance

_untold warnings of remembrance_

* * *

 _And she was falling._

Two eyes widened, one snapping open to reveal a whirring crimson state, and his body began to move through fear and horror—she had slipped underneath the lightning strike, an expression of quiet surprise on her face, and suddenly Hatake Kakashi could not bear to see another broken body—could not bear to see this child falling (though he had gone on missions and observed the most atrocious of horrors… this was his shatterpoint [but he was already shattered, had started to crack from the blade of his father's tanto— _blood, he remembers blood_ —], where all of his grief turned to a standstill and desperation sealed his movements.)

And suddenly he was plunging down as well, mouth clenched shut with pain, faster, faster—

(He wouldn't make it in time, he never made it on time; wasn't that the truth that they all avoided? _Nakamagoroshi no Kakashi—_ they called him Friend-Killer, cursed with a Shinigami's touch.)

Blood was flowing freely now, drawn from the painfully reopened wound, the pain a reproach against desperation. He was dizzy, had used up too much chakra for his mission (he had not thought of his own safety in months)—

He caught her, the impact driving his breath from his lungs, and a tenth of a second later, the ground rushed up to meet them. And he looked down…

The mismatched pair of eyes, one for a friend and the other to weep, met two spinning, spinning red. Her eyes widened in realization, and the moment was suspended, was stopped, because there was something that she had needed to tell him—needed to tell the man with one of her kinsman's eyes, because she had _promised_.

Their eyes met, and her magic _surged_ , choking, battling with her chakra, becoming corroded by the energy of _this_ world. So they continued falling, though they had landed near the roots of the tree.

*I*I*

Lightning flashed, a snapshot of a moment causing another moment—so sparks turned to fireflies, and they burned like so many constellations, signifying great and terrible stories and their characters (Luna remembers Orion, she remembers Cassiopeia and her daughter Andromeda, remembers a soft voice next to her ear and a warm hand encircling her and pointing up into a cosmos, before wars and castles and Ginny.)

Lightning flashed and red eyes opened—they did not tell her that she would remember, that the scene would rewind before frantic eyes, but perhaps this was only hers to bear.

Lightning flashed…

(Everything was brilliant, defined and separated and then that light was stolen, snatched up into the hands of an unseen god.)

(They did not tell her—)

— _and the Fox was huge, rising into the heavens as if to brush the stars with its own flames—deathly terrifying, menacing, in a fatal, too real manifestation of a demon—there was a man with green eyes—a hurricane was slicing into her skin as she coughed up blood—blood dripping from lips which twitched up into a smile despite the scene_ —

— _Tell him—_

— _A parallel of tragedies—what's the price?—his soul—I'm sorry—_

— _Tell him—_

— _They were never more beautiful, never more horrific, never more awe-inspiring, than in that moment. It was the height of the climax in the play and the actors were arrayed perfectly—blue eyes held steady as he struggled to get the words out, as he tried to quell the coughing—_

— _Tell him—_

(You are loved.)

Slate grey and weeping red broke away, a noose curling around the ability to breathe, (a burning in the back of his throat, a burning in his chest where her magic had sparked; fire accentuated his movements.) He disappeared, running blindly, invisible— _coward!_ and that was _his_ voice mocking in its childishness, in its familiarity, and so he stumbled home and collapsed on the floor, tears drowning him though there was only rain on his skin.

And Luna lay in the rain and felt herself mold into the earth.

*I*I*

Itachi found her.

(Her brother would always find her.)

She was burning—her eyes were burning, backlash from the conflict of her magic and the chakra that was her lifeforce slicing through her lungs, her heart beating an irregular melody. Shallow breaths, steady, steady—Itachi held her, a flash of fear appearing in the red of his eyes, as he could only watch, helpless, as his sister's chakra clashed with another force, tearing apart her body.

(Instinctively he knew that he could not take her to the hospital [not with her red _red_ eyes, not with the anomaly of the internal wounds without any external sign]—there would be too many questions, too much suspicion—his sister must not be allowed to stand out, must always stay in his shadow. There were those who would break them just to see how they worked…)

Her shivers subsided, the two energies inside her forcing an uneasy peace.

Itachi bent over her, arms sliding gently under her exhausted body, lifting her frail form. Her eyes fluttered shut after recognizing the one who carried her, and he took her home.

*I*I*

(Sometimes the clan was a dark miasma of hopelessness, of festering anger and resentment.)

Luna watched her brother ( _pride was the set of her father's shoulders; pride and a quiet despair that had begun to shroud him_ ) as he walked to her. There were whispers, murmurs as he passed, but that moment narrowed to exclude the outside. Her father congratulated him, warmth seeping into his tone, and Luna met her brother's eyes solemnly.

She stood beside him, slipping her fingers into his, because in this at least she was confident—that she would always love him with a beautiful intensity that sometimes took her breath away. That they would forever be blood—but that they were linked by something deeper than the iron that lined their veins.

He squeezed her fingers carefully.

The metal gleamed too bright on his forehead and Luna wondered at it. What did it mean to be marked so? The Tirghres were spinning shining threads around the heads of those that stood there, a web of pride and protectiveness—Luna reached out a hand to brush the wings of one, and the bared needle teeth snarled, snapping.

"What do you see, hime?"

She turned to the voice, letting go of Itachi's hand, drifting as her brother spoke to her father. "It's a Tirghre—they've swarmed today."

"Be my eyes?" he grinned, as sharp as the creatures that only she could see.

"They have wings, gossamer-fine and catching the sunlight and spinning it into threads. A smile like yours, senbon teeth, all pointy. Scales like dragons and very protective—you have your own, Shisui-san."

"Aww, hime, didn't I tell you to drop the -san?"

She beamed at him. "You did."

"Aah well," he sighed in defeat. "Perhaps someday…"

Itachi finished talking to their father and walked to Luna and Shisui. Shisui brightened out of his slump.

"Itachi! Congratulations!"

He inclined his head. "Thank you, Shisui."

"Let me treat you to dango! And of course, hime as well." He bowed low before her, and she giggled.

(They ignored the whispers of the villagers, the stares and murmurs—they were more absorbed in each other [forced themselves to narrow their focus to their small group]. They ignored the vender's searching look and the customers that minutely drew away [but they were Uchiha, famed for their eyes, how could they not notice?] They still smiled easily, still laughed, but their dismissal of the attention of those outside their group fluttered in the cage shoved to the back of their minds.)

"So, what does my favorite cousin feel about graduating?"

Itachi chewed slowly, thinking over his answer. "Mmmm."

Luna giggled, and Shisui threw his hands up into the air. "That's all? Aren't you glad that there's a chance that you'll be taking missions with _me_?"

"No."

Shisui despaired.

Itachi finished off his dango and swiped some from his cousin, who made a noise of outrage.

The evening dissolved in laughter and a hide-and-seek-and-chase game across Konoha.

* * *

 **A/N:** Not sure when the next update will be up—real life is an octopus dragging me under seawater and finding time to write that _isn't_ ridiculously late at night is absurdly hard.

This tidbit is from Fugaku's perspective (thusly unreliable narrator) and was inspired from the quote below.

* * *

 _betrayal and a rejection_

* * *

" _Some left in disgust—Uchiha Fugaku, in angered grief, secluded himself, driven further by the village's suspicions._ "—Yamanaka Inoichi and fireflies (ch. 4 - palaces in clouds)

* * *

Uchiha Fugaku had hoped.

Minato had been a great leader; he acknowledged that, and he acknowledged the potential that the Yellow Flash had. He hadn't been a close friend of his, but their wives had been best friends, and he'd enjoyed Minato's company better than most (even after the Kannabi Bridge incident—the Elders had been furious when he had reluctantly allowed the Hatake boy to keep his Obito's Sharingan.)

Yet even beyond that, Minato had _listened_.

And Fugaku had been willing to give himself in service to the young Hokage; he had believed that his clan could finally be content.

But then Minato had gone and killed himself.

(It should have been the Third— _his time had passed_ —but it was the young, brilliant Fourth that left.)

And what had that gotten him? His son was a pariah, his beloved village was slowly crumbling from within, and the clan heads had lost cohesion.

Oh, Fugaku was _angry_.

The Third had been reinstated, but he _shouldn't have been_. He had grown old and softer than he had been when he had first taken the hat. He grown old and crueler than he had already been. (It was a strange dichotomy; his kindness made him cruel, his delusional belief and hope wounded instead of inspired.)

The Council was back into his and his teammate's hands.

(Who had taught them? Senju Tobirama. Senju Tobirama, who had loathed the Uchiha for Madara's betrayal, who had caged them with the Military Police—allowing precious few of the Uchiha to rise in rank and position. His students had inherited his hate, and it was a _disease_.)

With Madara remembered by the oldest generation—by the Third, by Danzo and Hotaru and Koharu—and the confusion of the Kyuubi attack, suspicion had fallen on them, the Uchiha. But it had been Danzo to order them back, as support instead of the front lines, and Fugaku was angry and tired of the injustice of it all.

It was a weary bitterness, a defeated one, and he was left standing with nothing but his anger and his loathing of the Council and Sarutobi Hiruzen. If he hadn't had that anger, his children would be fatherless and his clan in chaos; but his anger (created by love, because he cannot bear to see his clan suffering, to see his firstborn be regarded as unnatural, because the villager's hate affects him more than he shows) is iron in his blood, and so he is driven by a corrosive. He knows his time is short, because he will burn out, because he cannot subsist on anger, but it is enough (for now).

They had taken away their place in Konoha, secluding them away, away to the edges. They had taken away their pride as shinobi, restraining them to the Military Police. They had been suspicious, shown their suspicion openly and infected the village. Fugaku knew how the village could hate—hadn't he investigated Sakumo's suicide? Hadn't he seen Orochimaru, _one of the Sannin_ , be shunned by the village (later justified, but they hadn't know then; perhaps they had driven him to the labs)?

Hadn't he seen the abuse of Minato's son, and the Third's inaction?

Oh, Uchiha Fugaku nursed a deep wound in his heart that _they_ kept forcing open.

So when treasonous thoughts ran through the Compound, he couldn't bring himself to suppress them, to deny them, when he felt the same, when injustice pressed against them from all sides. He wanted to scream like they did, wanted to burn and burn and _burn_.

And in some ways it was a relief, _let the wounds bleed and let us cauterize them with fire_.

But Fugaku lost his happiness the day his Hokage died.

Fugaku lost his hope the day Minato sacrificed himself.

(Fugaku found his hatred the day the Third took back the seat he should never have reclaimed.)


	8. interludes: can you see the cracks?

_interludes: can you see the cracks?_

* * *

 **A/N:** And my first, inevitable OC makes his appearance. Why inevitable? I don't particularly do well with timeskips and Luna is in the unfortunate age bracket in which we have no canon characters… Tell me what you think!

* * *

Uchiha Tsukiko was a strange girl—

He was a civilian, painfully aware always of the gaps that existed between him and those who had brothers, sisters, parents who put on shining metal identifiers to fight and bleed… There were not very many civilians in his year; the Kyuubi attack had resulted in the fear and apprehension of the profession. (How many had died in the attack? Konoha's military force had been _leveled_ —parents saw the memorial, saw the body bags and the destruction and withdrew their children, moved far, _far_ away. But he saw civilians crushed underneath houses from the great structural collapse of the Kyuubi's destruction, and resolved never to be _collateral damage_. Thus it was a specific type of desperation that drove him, though he didn't have any advantage in this shinobi business.)

Uchiha Tsukiko was a strange girl. For a clanborn, she didn't flaunt the easy arrogance that so many of the others had (arrogance tempered by either steel or fear—the Attack held consequences over everything and there was no one who did not know one of the fallen, _especially_ the clanborn). No, even though she was around three or four years younger than the rest of class, she didn't seem to understand her position as " _prodigy._ " She was a dilemma.

She excelled of course—her body, while younger, had been trained—but she didn't strive (like him, like, oh, everyone in their class) to be the best. Instead she—

"I think that Hashirama must have had Wrackspurts in his hair."

Yeah. That was history class.

The other children didn't know what to make of her (and some looked on her with suspicion, because even he could see the growing distrust towards the Uchiha in the small flickered gazes). The teachers learned to ignore her or argue, quite fruitlessly, with her about Konoha's founding, the Shinobi Code, or whatever else had caught her fancy. Uchiha Tsukiko, herself, did not argue—it was like she and the teachers were operating on totally different levels. They'd expect her to answer with answer choice one, two or three, and she would give a dreamy smile and ponder the existence of magical creatures.

He could almost _feel_ the frustration as she continually scored higher than the ones that were actually trying. (Except on those tests that she would _bomb_ spectacularly, when she disagreed with the textbook or the question itself and would go off on spiderweb tangents…)

She was fascinating, but Fujino Hideshi lived by the proverb that curiosity had indeed killed the cat and that taking interest in such a strange girl wasn't going to help him any. Besides, he just didn't have _time_ for indulging his curiosity.

Of course, that ultimately didn't matter when they were put together as partners for a group project.

(It was probably because he was one of the few that had decided to give up on reacting to her. The teachers knew better than to put Tsukiko with a student who would only endlessly complain to them.)

"Fujino Hideshi," he gave her a short bow. "I'm your partner."

She blinked rather slowly at him.

"There's an Eadocha on your shoulder."

He sighed. This was going to be a long few weeks.

*I*I*

Actually, Tsukiko wasn't entirely impossible to work with, but Uchiha Itachi was _definitely_ the scariest person that he'd ever come across. And he was pretty sure that Tsukiko-san's brother didn't approve of him. He felt rather skittish in the Uchiha Household and wondered why he'd decided to work there.

Oh right. It was because he _really_ didn't want Uchiha Tsukiko to see his home. ( _He really didn't want her to see the state of his family._ )

He could feel the Uchiha Heir's gaze boring in between his shoulder blades.

Tsukiko-san merely wandered to her room, expectance in her step, and he followed with a stack of nonfiction library books on the various topics. It was the biggest project of the year and they were supposed to choose a trade route and then, from the information that they could find, explain what threats were to be anticipated, the rank of the escort mission, the resources that the shinobi should have, and also how important the mission was in terms of Konoha's gain and economy.

(Actually the real assignment was something like "Write a collaborative paper on how you would go about planning and executing an escort mission. (Include materials that you need to pack and what you will prepare for.)" But the question itself was annoyingly vague—how was he supposed to know what to plan for if he didn't know the terrain, the client, the environment? His solution was to treat it as an actual mission. He was fairly sure Tsukiko-san wouldn't mind.)

They worked in silence for about two hours. Tsukiko was a faster reader than he was, flitting from passage to passage, writing notes that were either brilliant in analysis or completely useless as they referenced her confounding imaginaries.

But when that first day was up, he thought that they had made good progress—he knew the environment know, knew the trade routes, knew the background information necessary to plan.

It was the second day that Tsukiko-san broke the silence with the words:

"Hideshi-san, we should go interview a merchant!"

There was a gleam in her eyes, a sharp interest that was completely opposing to the dreamy, wandering state that she was usually in. He agreed—it was a valid source of information after all, even if he had no idea how to conduct an interview.

He shouldn't have worried, honestly.

Of course Tsukiko-san would take charge and be surprisingly competent at eliciting information (that is, in between the comments about Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and other such strange words).

They made a surprisingly competent team. He would pave the way with explanations: _we are students of Konoha's Shinobi Academy, and our assignment involves learning about escort missions…_ Tsukiko-san would then begin questioning, driven and focused, unwavering, and he would be the one to bow and thank the source for their time.

It took three days, and they interviewed two merchants and a chuunin who was indulgent enough to give them advice.

Tsukiko-san compiled the interview, instinctively picking out the most useful information and handing the edited version to him. The interviews and the analysis of them took up about fifteen pages of the thirty page document written in a mixture of his pragmatically legible scrawl and her spidery hand. (When he saw the mentions of otherworldly creatures, he sighed but didn't erase them. Tsukiko beamed.)

When it was time to turn in their reports, his and Tsukiko-san's was considerably thicker than the others'. By about twenty pages.

They _might_ have gone overboard….

*I*I*

"Kiko-chan—"

There was something terribly wrong, something hollow (dead), about the voice of her brother.

It was twilight, and the air was ponderous and heavy, as if the space itself had slowed, had wearied. (And flashes of white glimpsed, and perhaps reality was just a faded covering on a train station, perhaps this tangible light was all too fragile.) Spring was turning to summer and the transition was a mountain slowly melting from the heights of winter.

Luna (but to him she would ever be Tsukiko, and it was _enough_ ) opened her arms and embraced him, holding him. Minute tremors accompanied the quiet, irregular breaths; Itachi leaned into her, grief in the fingers clutching fabric.

She didn't ask, and he didn't answer, and it was only later that she heard of the orange masked man, of the broken team and the apathetic sensei, of red spinning eyes and expectations.

It was only later when her brother stood before their father and reported.

Their father's voice was quiet, and Itachi heard the cold, but she could hear rain and barely whispered sadness and an anger that drowned. "Our bloodline holds a terrible power and influence; the Sharingan is your inheritance, you must be aware of its power. It brings joy to the clan when one of its own excels. I am proud of you." He didn't turn around from the garden to face Itachi, and Luna wondered if the Creidea has left a hollow achiness.

Itachi clenched his fists. She slipped her hand into his own ( _I know you are angry, brother, I know you are grieved_ ) and he relaxed the tension in his arms and took a deep breath, calming himself.

"But you must continue to be diligent, even though you have obtained the Sharingan. Bring pride to the clan."

It felt like a death knell.

"Yes, Father."

*I*I*

In time the trembling stopped, and he was alone, bereft of a team, and sometimes he would believe himself the endpoint of the deepest lakes of Kiri, numb and with mirrors of water between himself and the world. He improved, hurtling towards a dread of something as sharp as glass, towards a poison, towards—

"Aniki! You told me you'd play with me when you got back!" Sasuke looked up hopefully.

Itachi schooled his face into a resemblance of a smile. "Aah. So I did."

Sasuke's expression turned to shocked joy, and he felt his heart inhale a stutter, felt his eyes slipping away ( _but no, look, you must face what you will reject._ )

"Sorry, Sasuke. I need to borrow your brother today."

He let out a breath in relief—he would not have to turn his brother down again. (He wouldn't see the disappointment.) Shisui grinned at him, and he could only be grateful.

Sasuke was pouting.

 _Poke._

He yelped and sprang back, childish disgruntlement in his offended stance, and Itachi smirked, a pale ghost of the usual smile, but he felt numb, that pane of ice only melting a little as Sasuke interacted with him as he always (forever) had.

His brother turned to kitten footsteps.

"Nee-chan, will _you_ play with me?"

And if his tone was somewhat accusatory, well, Itachi felt that he deserved that pang of sorrow.

Tsukiko stepped into the entryway, hands finding sandals and slipping them on. She smiled at the eager boy, and Itachi felt another pang as he remember cold eyes and cold stares and the urge to scream _what have we done?_ —

(His team had splintered—Tenma forever held in mind's eyes as upright, a surprised tenseness to his stance as blood splattered his petrified body—Shinko had quit, sobbing to him and he could do _nothing_ —Minazuki-sensei had looked at him, dull, uncaring, dismissive—and that was when he had applied to take the Chuunin Exams alone. He thought that he might also splinter, might also cease to exist…)

Sasuke brightened at Tsukiko's nod, and ran off, back into the house.

His sister picked up her backpack and followed him outside, where she waved as she set off for the Academy. Shisui laughed and called her _hime_ and he could see the his own heart in his cousin's eyes.

Then it was time to go, to prepare, to mold himself into a deadly visage of death.

*I*I*

It was Itachi who asked her if she wanted to train with the Sharingan.

She looked at him solemnly (she knew what he was truly asking and her mind flashed back to a Room that came and went and and silvery, glowing hare that had nuzzled her as if they were one and the same) and agreed, tightening a hold on the hand that had slipped into hers.

The moon's glow provided enough light for them to pick their way silently, furtively to a secluded training ground. The air had an edge to it—it was nearing winter and the trees had lost their leaves, casting asymmetrical shadows that fused and melted with the scudding clouds.

They reached the clearing and let their eyes burn red.

Luna opened her eyes, and there was the scene— _crimson chakra coating the air and last, brilliant smiles, and a Fox—_ flashing across her eyes again, and she held it, delicately, gently, to her chest and slowly let go, let it dissipate into fireflies.

The world wavered, sharpened, and they were moving.

(And she thought him beautiful in that moment, between shadows and moonshine, beautiful and terrible, mock strikes to the body's weaknesses, and they danced in spirals. There was a stillness to the movement, of the eyes fixed on each other; there was no music, simply harsh breaths and exhilaration running through their veins. They fit together as two hawks soaring in a complex courtship, as the give and take of the sea and the moon…)

(And he thought her the sky, free, airy, and only half real—but with every blow they exchanged he confirmed and grounded her. They predicted each other, expecting and receiving, evading and confronting; he swept his right leg up in a high kick, and she slid underneath it, a hand poised to strike at his stomach, which he deflected to create an opening—circular actions of lethal beings. It was not that she was near his level of skill—he was _genin_ , soon to be _chuunin_ , and she was still Academy—but their styles complemented each other: hers fluid and flexible, his direct hits and a focus on efficiency. The Sharingan lessened the gap [and already she was better than his peers], and oddly enough, she moved as if experienced in combat, never hesitating, never pausing…)

It lasted eight minutes, and Luna's harsh breathing soon filled the clearing—her body was not yet developed and tired easily. But perhaps the line of tension in Itachi's shoulders lessened some, perhaps his stance was more open, freer, perhaps his lips twitched up into a glancing smile as they headed back.

* * *

 **A/N:** This will be the first of several interludes spanning the time period of the Academy years and...well, you'll find out.

Remember that Luna was the daughter of an editor, born into the newspaper business. She looks for facts—she knows how to do research—she's in Ravenclaw because she _seeks knowledge_. I think that standardized education is detrimental to her, but remember the DA (practical learning that had a _reason,_ a _purpose_ )? She _excelled_.

In regards to Luna and Harry and the Deathly Hallows situation—well, there's a lot to say and more of it will be revealed as the story goes on, but think of time as relative. The point of connection between the Narutoverse and the world of wizards is… odd. Shouldn't technically exist, at least for humans. It flickers and moves—it's not a set point. If time is line, then the point of connection between worlds are beads that hold the two strings together. They are removable and sometimes they slip off the strings, or one of the strings completely. So when you see Harry in chapter three, his _past_ self, the self that _hasn't boarded the train yet_ , is the one who is there.

Also, Minato is in the story description because he affects _so much_ of the story. (It'll probably change later.)

Sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoyed!


	9. interludes: love is a chronic pain

_interludes: love is a chronic pain_

* * *

The sun was setting in dusky flecks of gold flakes, bright ash settling down to a thin layer on the horizon. It filtered into the window, swirling into the dust, creating a soft glow that softened the room; it made it welcoming, immersive.

Uchiha Mikoto found herself in that room more and more, looking up at the ceiling where paint held sunlight captive—where she would see her own likeness as well as her family's; where she would see Minato in all his radiance (the words _tell him_ etched next to his perpetual smile, and the thin thread of red bound him to an unseen)—she found herself reaching toward them, towards a dream, and wondered if she would ever let go.

More and more often now the house was quiet; both Itachi and Tsukiko gone to become perfect soldiers, to become _strong_ , and sometimes she looked at the chasm that existed between her and her children with inscrutable eyes and a weary aching in her bones. Sasuke was her only child who was truly _hers_ , and she was thankful to these small mercies, these present distractions as her youngest filled the house with joyous shouts, with noise and laughter and complaints—the times when even he was not there stretched and preyed on her, and she found herself gravitating to her daughter's room to stare, pensive, at the mural.

(She wondered why she was content [passive] alone in the house, why she stayed in solitude instead of the drug that was conflict, that was danger—because Uchiha Mikoto was still a shinobi, and these bursts of adrenaline were an intoxication she desperately needed… She wondered why she could not find the strength to go out to the field once more.)

Before the door opened, she sensed the flare of the bright, expansive chakra that was her daughter and drew out of the room, turning to the entrance to greet Tsukiko with an embrace that held, perhaps, a hint of desolation.

"How was your day, musume?"

*I*I*

Shisui laughed wildly as he dodged another set of kunai and flash-stepped forward to draw his katana across the Iwa nin's throat. (Because that bastard _deserved_ to die after he had cut open Hirumi, after he had seen her look of pain and fear and _sneered—_ ) They were doing pest control again—the countries were converging on Konoha like sharks to blood, and Konoha could not afford to be kind. Not after the Hyuuga affair, not after the decimation of their forces by the Fox, not after the weariness that the Third Shinobi War had left on their village.

(Every shinobi had their own ways of dealing with murder—his was the perpetual smile, hiding the desperate cunning and knife-sharp resolve—it stayed the despair, the question of why… His was the drunkenness that came with the adrenaline that clouded pensive thoughts and left only lightning reactions.)

He spun around and decimated the swath of forest with fire, taking out an enemy-nin (not much younger than him, he looked _afraid_ , and Shisui pushed aside the pang of something ugly in his chest at the smell of burning flesh), and then turned support his squad leader, who was taking on two of their opponents.

Using shushin to slash the one closest to him across the ribs and then flickering away to Akihiro's side, Shisui guarded his leader's back, holding up a kunai to ward off a strike. (He was at a disadvantage; he didn't have the shunshin to use as he wished—he had to stay as support, both guarding Hirumi [who was _bleeding out, dammit_ ] and playing distraction for one of the Iwa nin so Akihiro could hopefully finish the other off.) He gritted his teeth as a long, thin gash opened up across his arm when he was too slow to stop a kick from connecting ( _who had blades in their shoes, what the_ fuck). They weren't giving him enough time to form any handseals, probably wary after the fire that had burned one of their members alive.

 _Shit,_ he didn't know if they could get through this, Hisao was down, Hirumi was down, Akihiro was bleeding from a deep gouge on his back, he himself was running out of chakra and stamina—they'd called for help as soon as a fight seemed inevitable, but he wasn't sure if any patrols were close enough to make it on time—

*I*I*

It was the rockfall again.

Crushing darkness and he couldn't breath _couldn't breath_ , and a pained scream, all he remembered was _that scream_ and whirring, whirring red. It surrounded and engulfed him and suddenly he couldn't breathe as the iron stench of blood filled his lungs—

 _Tell him I thought of him as a son._

Moonlight streaking in from the window, and the sword received it, gleaming in a light that cut him open and vulnerable and black stains that would never come out—all he could think was that _he_ finally looked at peace, and how _he_ couldn't find it, couldn't find it with him, how he couldn't be _enough, would never be enough, he was a_ curse.

— _be careful and live—_

And Minato-sensei, his sun, his commander, his life—and the smile he had for him and the fire he loved and then the Fox and the red hate that curled and curled and caved his chest in—

 _Let me go! I have to help!_

 _No. You are a_ child.

Why are you stopping me? I am not a _child,_ I strayed off that path at in moonlight—SenseiisindangerhowcanIstaybehindhowcanIcarveoutthatpartofmethatmustbe _guardinghisbackhisfire?_

 _Tell him—_

The sickly light of the experiments and the Third's _hesitation_ , Orochimaru's words _you are no match for me, child,_ the snakes strangling, slithering up his legs and binding his arms to his body and a cold amused voice— _stick to hiding, dog of konoha—_

Hatake Kakashi woke, the pain in his chest morphing into a shadow that obscured his heart. He let his head fall back, leaning against the wall in his darkened apartment, breathing shallowly, trying to keep his mind blank— _he wasn't ready to face his sorrows_ —and thoughts turned to a little girl with grey-red eyes who had told him what could only be a falsehood. _(But it had felt_ true _. She had spilled secrets that she was not meant to know.)_ He had not gone looking for her; not only was she an Uchiha, and the Uchiha _hated_ him, but he was afraid…

He was tired these days, but that was good, tiredness numbed the mind, banished thoughts that might otherwise destroy him, kept him focused on only the present, on only surviving. He needed it as an anchor—all his other reasons had been destroyed. Sometimes he would find himself standing in front of the Memorial Stone and wondering desperately if they would approve of him— _probably not, he had_ failed _them, unable to follow their dreams, their values_ —he never stayed long, the silence was crushing and he could not bear the judgement in the names that had left him unworthy and alive.

Putting on his mask, he left through the window, in search of something dangerous, in search of temporary amnesia.

*I*I*

The world revolved and their places switched—this time it was Luna on the stage, bright metal defining her path, Itachi offering a small smile from the crowd. From her left, Fujino Hideshi gave her a nod of acknowledgement; they had been friendly since the escort mission assignment and had worked together since.

The Tirghres were again swarming, teeth bared and needle bright, snapping and proud in their ferocity. She stepped down and wondered how the world was so bright—artificial brightness, like Hermione's bluebell fire—and her father looked down at her solemnly and said _you have made me proud_. His hand was warm and heavy on her shoulder, the only sign of his acceptance of her accomplishment, but she leaned in and his grip tightened. Her brother stood next to her, holding he hand as they had done three years ago at his graduation, and they listened to the Third's speech.

(Her father's eyes were obsidian, brittle and glasslike, an his body stiffened as the speech dragged on— _loyalty_ , said the old man bent under a shadow of brightness, _unity_ , and her father turned away, bitter.)

This time they met Shisui at the hospital, after their father had gone home. He turned to them with a too bright smile (Luna saw the empty spaces next to him and saddened.)

"Hime, you passed! Congratulations!"

"Hello, Shisui-san!"

He pouted, an old, familiar motion by now. The air lightened. "Still with the -san?"

Luna smiled.

The room was a worn white, and light filtered weakly into the room from the solitary window. Shisui-san's chest was swathed with bandages and an IV was attached to his left arm. His eyes looked tired, bruising shadows hanging heavily underneath them. The Tirghre on his shoulder drooped, hissing defeatedly at her gaze.

Itachi stepped forward, voice subdued. "How are you, Shisui?"

The wide smile turned acidic. "I'm _fine_ , cousin."

There was an uncomfortable pause as Shisui struggled with his composure.

"I brought you flowers." Luna held out a bunch of quite odd looking fire-red petals, already slightly wilted from the long walk there. The stalks were stuffed inside a lumpy ceramic cup.

"Is this the ultimate form of Hime's favor?" The tone was teasing, gentled. The smile felt a bit more genuine now. "I am greatly honored."

She set it on the side table and Shisui looked at it for a long while as they talked of trivial things like the Academy and hospital food and the weather; when they left as the sun slipped underneath the horizon line, their cousin's eyes were still shifting to the flowers.

*I*I*

"...and Team Four is Uchiha Tsukiko, Hiraide Katsuki, and Fujino Hideshi led by Matsuo Shigeto."

Hideshi-san nodded to her, the same nod of acknowledgement he'd given her at graduation, but Katsuki scowled.

One of the shinobi slouched on the wall—waiting, no doubt, for that announcement—straightened. With a sweeping glance across the room, singling out the three now-teammates, he walked out the door. The Academy teacher's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in displeasure at the jonin who had left.

Then she turned back to her class and snapped at her former students, "What are you waiting for?"

All three scrambled to gather their things and bolt out the door.

Their new jonin-sensei led them (at a pace they were hard pressed to follow, considering the crowded marketplace in the middle of the day) to a teahouse. The two boys were panting by then, but Luna had remained oddly serene considering how quickly they had moved. Hideshi was incredulous, and Katsuki glared at her.

The jonin was waiting at a table for four and sipping a cup of steaming tea, his dark blue eyes dismissive as he observed them. He was almost twice her height, grim with grey-brown hair and faded scars on his face and hands (the only parts of his skin that weren't covered in the standard jounin uniform). They hurriedly sat down, somehow feeling the command though he hadn't said anything.

"Names and the trait most likely to get you killed in combat."

The order had been given sharply, before they had had the chance to completely settle down in their seats. They glanced at each other.

"Uchiha Tsukiko, stamina," she replied after a bit of thought.

There was a rather long pause as the jonin turned her teammates, wearily expectant. (she was reminded silver, wild hair and crimson tinted water, a whisper, absentminded— _is it dangerous?—only to the heart._ )

"Fujino Hideshi, skill difference."

Katsuki scowled at the admission. "Hiraide Katsuki… recklessness." His tone was reluctant, resentful.

The jonin nodded curtly, almost uncaring. "Matsuo, Shigeto, the unexpected. Call me whatever you want. We will meet here tomorrow morning at 6:00 am. Be on time." He stood up sharply and disappeared.

And that was that.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry that this is so late—there are excuses upon excuses, but they don't really matter that much. There will be one more interlude until we start the action (if it can be called that) again. I needed something to fill the time from when Luna enrolled at the academy to her graduation and the early days of her genin team, and this is what spilt onto the page.

(and 300 followers? I am dying of exhilaration—you people are _wonderful_.)


	10. interludes: crescendo

_interludes: crescendo_

* * *

(Sometimes a flash of hopelessness, and Luna would feel her heart clench.)

*I*I*

They weren't a team, not yet, too new to themselves and each other—Katsuki still scowled as he was forced to work with them, Tsukiko was still _odd_ in that undefinable way, and he… he was still civilian, was still desperate, and it showed. But they were smoothing out, becoming more of a whole than three disparate objects, and so he was glad.

Shigeto-sensei was _tired_ , most of the time. He moved with an air of infinite exhaustion, and Hideshi wondered what uncaring higher up had assigned a clearly reluctant ( _competent_ ) jonin to become babysitter to three genin when he definitely did not want them. That wasn't to say that he did not teach—no, Shigeto-sensei taught ridiculously well, and Hideshi could feel himself improving, his movements becoming more and more fluid and natural, but the man _didn't want them_.

(He hated the feeling, the sense that he was a burden on top of many other burdens, and it drove him to push his body to its limits to be _recognized_ — _we are your_ team, _Sensei_.)

Tensions were still high in the village, the Hyuuga Affair and the Kyuubi's attack kept them constantly on edge, paranoid and waiting for the slightest hint of trouble. Their D-ranks consisted of ferrying paperwork across the divisions (Hideshi remembered T&I, remembered the echoes of screams—he shuddered, and wondered if their sensei had perhaps planned it), volunteering at the hospital (he had retched the first time he smelled the overwhelming scent of blood—there had been a team brought in, a bloody hole where there had once been an arm, they had to clean the floor; short staffed, the hospital had run down from Tsunade's era, and there was some pervasive hint of exhaustion, some surrender to the neverending work), and working in the fields, carrying produce and tilling the fields.

(It was all essential work; they were still building up the shinobi reserves, still attempting to project strength— _deterrence_ , not that the policy had ever worked well for shinobi. They knew too well that even the strongest fell to luck, that one did not need direct combat—the right application of force at a precise moment could cause collapse.)

Still, there was something missing, the hyperawareness that would allow them as a team to fit as perfectly coordinated dancers.

(Teams were forged through trust—the kind that sunk in bone-deep, finding yourself shielding them with a snarl forming on your face—they hadn't known it then, hadn't known how irreversible this process of shedding blood was…)

It was their second C-rank that both shattered and reformed their team, and Hideshi didn't know whether to be grateful or to curse at the kind of world that allowed such heart-stopping terror to bleed through thought and freeze limbs.

C-ranks weren't so different from D-ranks—they were still ferrying papers, the only difference being the scenery.

This close to home, there was hardly any risk of anything happening. Bandits tended to stay away from attacking shinobi, and enemy-nin wouldn't be seen this close to Konoha—it was not war, and no one wanted to be the instigator. Still, somehow, halfway there (exactly halfway—he had come back, much later, to that disastrous mission, pinpointed it on the map and calculated the distance—twenty-eight and three-fourths kilometers from Konoha, twenty-eight and three fourths to the base—he had shivered then, some suspicion of a looming shadow, an enormous force—), they had been attacked.

A slight stiffening of Sensei's form. That was all the warning they had.

In a space in between heartbeats, Sensei had flashed in front of them, knocking both Tsukiko and Katsuki back into himself. A screeching cream of metal on metal. Then they traded blows, Shigeto-sensei and his attacker, too fast now to pinpoint, and he _couldn't move._

Shock. It was shock and killing intent. The realization came with great clarity.

(— _remember the red haze, the glaring orange of the flames as they spread, remember the Fox, remember the terror—_ )

The air was thick and poisonous, weighing thought and movement down to increments. Tsukiko struggled to her knees and stood, and he wondered dimly how she could lift herself when the amount of intent in the air was _crippling_.

In another flash, the quiet was stifling, interspersed with slithering crashes, and Sensei was _down_ , clutching his chest, red ribbons of blood flowing freely—

And Tsukiko was _there_ , abruptly, rooted, as if she had always been there, and her eyes were spinning, spinning red, and somehow, Hideshi found the strength to stand again. But the enemy had vanished, as if they weren't worth his time—vanished, and so had their message, the papers.

Katsuki snarled from besides him; he'd also gotten up and was half-crouched, a kunai in his hand, and a shallow cut across his arm. Hideshi watched in slow fascination as crimson dripped, languid, into the ground.

But it wasn't over.

( _of course. they were loose ends, weren't they? collateral damage—it was nothing_ personal)

Two other nin emerged from the shadows, grins slashed across their faces, and Hideshi cursed. Katsuki attacked immediately, frustration lining his form. Reckless—he thought back too the day they'd introduced themselves, saw the scowl on his teammate's face— _goddammit Katsuki, what are you_ doing _?!_

Then Tsukiko moved, receiving a slash aimed at Katsuki's unprotected back— _there were_ two _, Katsuki, didn't you account for it when you threw yourself into their arms? we are a_ team—and Hideshi was jolted into action. He waited for an opening— _I'm trembling, how odd—_ and sprinted forward into their first defensive formation—the formation drilled into their behavior by Sensei's relentless training.

It was not clean—as far from Academy spars as one could get—every movement was filled with the desperation of the overwhelmed, strategy held no place in the brawl for survival, just reaction-action-reaction—he raised his kunai just in time to block a downward strike with the long dagger that one of his opponents held, and the impact almost drove him to his knees. But he saw another slash aimed at his ribs— _too slow—_ and a blinding pain in his arm as he tried to ward off the killing strike. Tsukiko moved to cover him, Sharingan blazing—he wondered blearily when she had received it—and their opponent dropped, a genjutsu weaving through the air and distorting sound and balance. She stumbled, the illusion leeching her chakra reserves, and sluggishly blocked an angry blow from the other enemy-nin, who'd turned from engaging Katsuki ( _their teammate was bleeding from his leg, his chest, and Hideshi_ couldn't do anything), to them as soon as he'd realized his partner had fallen.

Hideshi was almost calm with the cold rage burning through his mind. He shunted the pain aside— _this was more important, this was survival_ —and threw a brace of kunai—the aim off because the the awkward angle and his broken right arm ( _thank kami he was left-handed_ )—but it was close enough—their opponent was close enough—that it didn't matter. One of the kunai grazed Tsukiko's shoulder and hit the man's throat—he watched in excruciating detail as the kunai ripped through the airway and he and Tsukiko became drenched with blood.

( _this was the image that would haunt him through all of his subsequent dreams—even after becoming desensitized to killing, the vulnerability of their team, the helplessness, the desperation would keep him jerking awake at night, sweat staining the bed_ )

His eyes slipped closed, blood loss finally rendering him unconscious.

*I*I*

 _They were lucky._

(Three of Katsuki's ribs were shattered, his leg broken, and there was some internal bleeding. Tsukiko had sustained light injures, a few deep cuts and severe chakra exhaustion. Hideshi had the tendons in his arm severed and the bone broken into seven parts—the nurses said that if he hadn't unconsciously pushed chakra into the arm [burning out several tenketsu points] the sword might have amputated it from his body. Shigeto-sensei had massive internal hemorrhaging, and if the Konoha jonin team hadn't been passing by, also exhausted after completing their mission, he might not have made it.)

 _They were still alive._

When they were all finally released from the hospital—Hideshi first, then Tsukiko under observation and with the firm "no training" rule, and finally Shigeto-sensei and Katsuki—when they all gathered at Training Ground 26, when Sensei said _I had a genin team before_ with grief-stricken, guilty eyes, Hideshi thought he finally understood.

( _We are your_ team _, Sensei._ )

*I*I*

They fit seamlessly now—broken, but holding each other's pieces. (And on the worst days, Hideshi would wonder bleakly if it was worth it—when his right arm ached, when he saw spinning red in his teammate's eyes, when Katsuki's breathing changed and became labored, but he was grateful still [were they lucky?] that they had each other.)

A month after they'd recovered, Shigeto-sensei brought them to a weapons store. He'd told them bluntly that he was paying, his eyes dark, and Team Four let him (they recognized the look, guilt and regret—they themselves wore its too heavy burden). He allowed them to browse, but chose for them: Katsuki received tonfas, Tsukiko, a pair of short swords (almost long daggers), and Hideshi, a brace of throwing knives (different from kunai in their weight and impact) and fine wire.

They learned to used them, and perhaps more importantly, how to fight as _shinobi_ —manipulating any situation and making the split-second decisions even overwhelmed by panic. Team Four grew closer, predicting each other's movements and covering their teammates' weaknesses. Tsukiko was a close to mid-range fighter—her taijutsu grew and evolved with her swords as her reach lengthened. With her Sharingan, she wasn't limited to a few styles of fighting, and her strength was in uncertainty—switching between offensive and defensive moves, at once graceful and jarring, she was unpredictable and never let a fight fall into a rhythm that let her opponent relax. In addition, she could step back from a fight, and with space construct elaborate genjutsus with the Sharingan. Katsuki excelled in hand-to-hand, the blunt force that barreled through enemies. He was the strongest of their team and usually led their attack. With a chakra affinity in earth, he used the ground to slow down attack, and instead of formal ninjutsu, simply sunk his chakra into the earth softening and hardening both to help him move and deter his enemy. Hideshi prefered to stay back from a fight—he was their strategist. He used his throwing knives, attaching the wires in order to draw them back to himself. Their edges were serrated to dig into flesh and _hold_ , and when he pulled the wire, often their opponents would be caught off balance, even if the knives had only cut fabric. He also had the highest accuracy of Team Four with projectile weapon. Hideshi had begun experimenting with poisons to coat the edges of his knives, giving Tsukiko and Katsuki antidotes, in case they were ever injured by his offensive.

They had their weaknesses, of course. But they _knew_ them, and they were a _team_. While they couldn't hold their own against a jonin individually, together they could at least deter them long enough to escape with little to no heavy injuries, and depending on the skill level of the jonin, they could subdue them. (They still couldn't beat Shigeto-sensei, but they were getting better at evading his more devastating attacks.)

Team Four took their Chuunin Exams in Kusa. They were promoted after reaching the second tier of the third part of the Exams.

(Sensei looked grim as he told them— _be careful, be wary, you are now responsible for your wellbeing, for not letting them break you, for protecting each other,_ do not die—and they understood it was not an honor, but a burden they were willing to bear for their village.)

*I*I*

In the mornings, Luna liked to look up at her ceiling and remember a one similar to it that existed in a different dimension. There it had been Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Harry and _friends_ repeated through golden chains. Here, in a violent world where peace was fleeting and bonds were forged of blood, _kazoku_ held the portraits together. Centered were pictures of her parents and her brothers, Sasuke's newly added as his face gained definition and character. Shisui was a little further off, but still close. To their right was Minato ( _tell them_ ) and Kushina, bright yellow and red intertwining, and connected to them was Hatake Kakashi, who was only lightly sketched, only a ghost yet. Below her family, her team, Shigeto-sensei, eyes shadowed and sad, but never defeated; Hideshi, the Eadocha on his shoulder; Katsuki, scowl on his face but eyes bright and fond.

Often, in the mornings, Luna let tears slip down her face. Tears were important (mum had always told her she was allowed to cry, as long as she also remembered to smile) and when the memories made her feel very sad, she reminded herself that it was alright to be sad and to cry.

*I*I*

" _Could you tell him we loved him?"_

There were shadows that prevented her from approaching the young sun. Luna frowned at the guards, at the gentle deterrence and redirection. Well, if _she_ couldn't get close to him, she'd find someone who could.

He was only almost five now, any note left for him would be vetted and taken away, and he probably couldn't read anyway. Better to find someone who was trustworthy who could pass along the message. Better to find someone who wouldn't be watched as she was watched. So Luna observed, flashes of bright blond, movements in the corner of her eyes—the guards did not notice her when she didn't approach directly.

A few months after she'd begun her subtle observation, she had picked out the ramen stand.

"Would you like to have dinner together?"

It was after a training session—they still occasionally met with Shigeto-sensei though their team had been split, Sensei going back to solo A-ranks and Team Four taking on harder and harder missions. (They met to show each other that they were alive, that they were _well._ )

Hideshi looked at her curiously, but Katsuki grinned and agreed immediately. They followed her as she brought them around to Ichiraku Ramen.

Katsuki snickered when he saw the name. "Kiko, I didn't know held ramen in such _high_ regard."

"I don't. This is my first time here."

"Then why did you choose this place?"

"The Heliopaths were congregating there."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course."

They ducked inside and ordered, Katsuki instantly inhaling the noodles, a quick _itadakimasu_ dropping from his lips. Hideshi looked around, curious and assessing, before his own _itadakimasu_ sounded and he dug in. Luna beamed at the cook, who hadn't looked at her with suspicious eyes (how odd, he didn't seem to be infested with Wrackspurts like the rest of Konoha. Nasty things, Wrackspurts.) He seemed eminently trustworthy.

Hideshi noticed her interest in the owner and leaned over. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with the blond pariah that you've been keeping an eye on?"

Luna took a sip of her soup, her widening smile the only indication of her answer.

A sigh. "Be careful, will you? He holds the interest of the Council." (Hideshi had _seen_ the ANBU intervene more than once when a drunken civilian had expressed hostility. He didn't have much of an opinion of the Kyuubi's container, just a general wariness at the power the small blond contained, but the ANBU were another thing altogether. ANBU meant that someone _important_ was involved, and it was best to steer _clear_ of any sort of interest from those in charge of a Hidden Village. A good shinobi stayed unnoticed.)

"I will." Luna sobered, eyes pained and remembering.

"Hey! This is actually really good!"

Their loud teammate had already finished his bowl and was ordering more. Hideshi raised an eyebrow at Luna. She smiled ruefully. "I did say I'd pay."

Katsuki whooped.

*I*I*

Later in the day, when a small boy dressed in eye-blinding orange burst into the ramen stand and ordered what he always ordered, Teuchi leaned forward over the counter and whispered a secret to the boy.

" _Naruto, I was told to pass along a message to you."_

" _Really?! What is it?"_

" _It's a secret—are you sure that you will be able to keep it?"_

" _Uh-huh!"_

" _Okay, this person asked me to not tell you who they were, but they wanted you to know that your parents loved you."_

*I*I*

(Sometimes, Luna choked on the swirling desolation in the Compound.)

Her brother smiled less and less now. He no longer had time for spars or training—he had been accepted into the grey ranks and Luna felt dread as he faded from her life (the same panic that she'd felt in another lifetime, but this time prolonged). Sasuke had felt it too, and he learned to stop asking after Itachi, because even when he was at home, he was exhausted.

Instead her younger brother turned to her. Which, in turn, led to his introduction to her team.

"Oi, who's the brat?"

"Hmmm?" Luna looked up from her sketchbook and stared at Katsuki a bit too long to be comfortable. It was one of those slow days, and they were just wandering around Konoha after a brief training session. "Oh, that's my brother."

"Why's he following us?"

Luna blinked and turned back to her sketchbook. Sasuke moved a half-step closer to his sister and scowled at the older boy.

"Hey! Tsukiko, answer me!"

Hideshi sighed, snapping a thick text on economic principles shut. "Katsuki, give it a rest. Sasuke isn't bothering us. Go find something to do if you're so bored."

"How do you know his name?"

"I've met him before."

Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the five year old, who promptly glared back.

"How am I the only one who doesn't know your family?"

Hideshi looked up from putting his book into his bag, apparently giving up on reading. "It's because you never visit her home."

"She's never invited me!"

"She's never invited me either."

Katsuki threw up his hands in exasperation. "I'm surrounded by socially-inept idiots who think that they're _fine!_ "

"Don't call Nee-san an idiot! You're an idiot!"

Luna looked at Katsuki very sternly. "Yes, that wasn't very nice."

Katsuki let out a muffled scream.

In time, Team Four became accustomed to Sasuke's presence (or rather, Katsuki did; the others had already been fine with it) and in between missions, they fell into the comfortable routine of familiarity, interspersed with bickering between Katsuki and Sasuke. (Hideshi sighed as they began arguing for the third time that day. "Honestly, Katsuki, are _you_ five?") It was, if not a good time, at least a relaxing one. ("Katsuki?" "What?" "Did you give my brother a pike?" "...pike? What pike?" _crash_ "That pike." "Actually...I just...forgot...that I need to...gotta go!")

* * *

 **A/N:** The last of the interludes (finally)—

I didn't get around to describing Luna's genin team, so without further adieu…

Fujino Hideshi: Reddish brown hair, lighter skin (not quite as pale as the Uchiha though), slender build and average height, light muted top and dark bottom with his hitai-ate on his arm, civilian

Hiraide Katsuki: Dark brown spiky hair, dark eyes and tanned, sharp features, tall, built solidly, muted light green shirt and dark grey shorts, hitai-ate around his forehead, arms and legs covered in a protective layer of bandages, shinobi family

Both Hideshi and Katsuki are two to three years older than Tsukiko

Matsuo Shigeto: Grim, grey-brown hair and dark blue eyes, craggy, seems taller than he actually is, has presence, several faded scars on his face and hands—the only parts not covered by the standard jounin uniform, has a sword and several other weapons, about twenty-six

A note on the Academy—I have no idea how the Rookie Nine's team structures were chosen, but I took the artistic liberty of putting Luna's team together based on initial skill sets and Academy compatibility. While one can't precisely determine how a student will do in the field or what their strengths will be, it makes sense to create well-rounded teams who can work with each other. So Hideshi, who showed promise in projectile weapons, Katsuki, who was clearly taijutsu oriented, and Luna with the Sharingan-enhanced genjutsu would be able to balance each other out and be compatible for a wide range of missions. In addition, one of their personalities directly clash—sure, Katsuki's abrasive, but Hideshi's quiet, and Luna on principle doesn't hate anybody. I'm also assuming that after the Kyuubi's attack, since these interludes are in the few years after that event, there was a lack of shinobi in the field and so teams that could do generally well with any task were more in demand than specialist teams (like the Ino-Shika-Cho triad) because Konoha simply doesn't have the manpower to allow a team to only take certain missions.

I'm doing too much analysis on this, aren't I? Anyhow, here's a small glimpse of Team Four's mothers.

* * *

Luna (Tsukiko):

Uchiha Mikoto doesn't care about the scene she's making as she storms into the hospital, killing intent clearing a wide path to her daughter's hospital room. Her hands curl into fists when she see Tsukiko unconscious.

No one dares approach her for the rest of the day.

*I*I*

Hideshi:

She comes in still and silent. When she sees him, her son, there are loud, ugly sobs. Her son just turns away, and the sobs grow louder.

*I*I*

Katsuki:

"Brat. Be careful."

Her voice is worry, is regret. The absence beside her is heavy and kept unspoken of.


	11. tragedy without catharsis

_tragedy without catharsis_

* * *

Luna felt a growing sense of disquiet as they drew closer to Konoha.

 _Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and she was far too late._

It was the same dread that she had felt as the Fox had broken loose; the same dread that summoned both her and Harry; the same dread that meant that Fate itself had changed and mutated into something horrific. Her magic roiled inside of her, fighting to expand and break loose and wreak havoc on this unease, on this _wrongness_ , and a wave of nausea slammed into her—

The mission itself had been a fairly easy one—low B-rank, a couple of nuke-nin (estimated at high genin experience, but intel on nukenin was _always_ sketchy) had been terrorizing a local village. They'd gotten desperate and arrogant, which was never a good thing, and her team had been sent for to deal with the problem. They'd finished earlier than expected by about a week; one of the shinobi-turned-bandit had panicked at the sight of a Konoha team, slipped up and confessed. Her team had been able to ambush them and turn them over to the samurai without much trouble. They'd opted to go back to Konoha immediately instead of using the rest of their mission time to relax in the small village.

It was late evening, quiet and expectant. They had decided to press on instead of making camp, as they were quite close to Konoha and in familiar woods. It should have been calming, returning home. It should have felt _safe_.

All she felt was dread.

Luna paused, fingers digging into the branch of the tree, rough bark scraping the skin not covered by the gloves, and tried not to fall, tried not to throw up as a wave of magic ( _wrongwrongwrongWRONG_ ) tore into her chakra, causing her control to fluctuate. The rest of her team stopped abruptly.

Hideshi looked back worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"No," she breathed. "There's something _wrong—"_

Her grip tightened, frustration lacing her words—

Katsuki immediately started checking her over for injuries or symptoms of illness, but Hideshi started questioning her. (There had been other times when Tsukiko's breathing had changed—never enough for her or for the others to notice, but since _that_ mission, he'd been hyperaware of both his teammates—and every time it had been before something unexpected, something that could have derailed the mission, something that could have _killed_ them.)

"Not here?"

"Konoha."

"Then we need to hurry."

" _Yes."_

Luna hauled herself to her feet, and they set off, and after a moment, their other teammate followed.

"Wait, what _was_ that?" Katsuki panted out, catching up to their flight, wariness lurking in the corners of his eyes. (His teammates had always been able to comprehend the other better—even back at the Academy, Hideshi had tolerated Tsukiko's strangeness when others drew away. They still worked together near perfectly as a team, but the other two somehow fit together instinctually, anticipating the other's actions and complimenting them, understanding intentions without being told. Sometimes he felt a twinge of jealousy, but then they were both so _odd_ that he couldn't really begrudge them that.)

Hideshi shrugged. "Intuition? Instinct?" His tone turned more serious. "But it's bad, I've _never_ seen Kiko this worried. About _anything_." Luna heard him through a muted wall of fear, she was already speeding ahead…

(They observed their distracted, slowly panicking teammate and increased their pace.

They trusted her; trust built on years of working together, years of honing each other till they all fit perfectly, interlocking and familiar. If she said that something was wrong, _it was._ )

Luna wasn't breathing correctly anymore: deep inhales had turned strangled and she was burning through more energy than she could afford, her magic on the verge of overflowing through the tight hold that she kept on it—she was growing desperate without knowing why, and it _scared_ her.

They arrived in a few hours of tense silence

Her team touched down at the gate, and Izumo and Kotetsu nodded at her, but her eyes skipped to the gate, to the trees—every detail in her surroundings seemed to spark with ever-increasing, _frightening_ intensity. As they sped through the streets to the Administration Building, Luna sped up, faster and faster (Hideshi and Katsuki shot each other a look before racing after her). They burst into the building drawing glances and alarm, but she couldn't think, couldn't _slow down, terror in her bones—_

They debriefed, and Luna felt her fear growing.

 _Something was wrong. So wrong that it could split her world in two._

They had barely left the Administration Building before Luna sprinted off in the direction of the Compound, so quickly that Hideshi and Katsuki couldn't keep her in sight. When she rounded the corner, her magic reached the boiling point and exploded from the pressure of her panic.

She needed to go–

 _Where?_

It didn't matter, she was _needed_.

With a sound akin to a silenced gun, she disappeared.

Luna landed in front of the the entrance to the Compound, and suddenly stopped. The pounding in her head wouldn't cease, and she was swaying on her feet. She choked on her breath, couldn't breathe, _couldn't breathe_.

She was underwater, the deep blues of the bottom of the ocean surrounding her, and she was floating, sinking; something dragged her down, her arms, her legs restrained but she was struggling to keep her head above drowning, but the surface was too far to reach, and time had caught her actions in amber.

(Magic flooding through her bones, sparking and erratic, burning, burning, _burning._ )

She took a step forward. All her energy had left her despite the magic waging havoc in her veins, and she almost expected the blood that stained the ground, that was everywhere, except she _hadn't_ and shock slammed into her with all the force of that train in the white station and her vision flickered. Then she was running, her passage leaving wet footprints that reflected cold moonlight, running without sound, without seeing the carnage, her eyes unfocused and bleeding red.

( _too much red, too much blood, don't stop, don't think, don't stay,_ you are still needed)

Murmurs, she slipped in through the door, the hiss of a sword sliding out of its sheath and cutting through the air—she arrived just as the blood spurted out from the fatal wounds on her parents.

(her father—his quiet approval, his bitterness, his _love_ , his arms around her, and then his hand on her shoulder, warm and with a certain strength from his pride— _her father_ , eyes onyx black, not red, not red, not insane, not angry or accusing _as he knelt_ — _why? this is betrayal—_ falling falling _falling_ )

(her mother—her quiet voice, her gentleness, her sorrow, her gaze on her daughter as she painted, her cooking and the love tinged with a deep loss as she called her _musume_ — _her mother,_ eyes onyx black, not red, not red, she'd left combat for a slow death and she _smiled_ _as she_ _fell_ )

And their killer looked up in shock.

She was falling again. Falling, falling, as her (as _their_ ) parents had; she trembled and began to tilt backwards. Itachi was by her side in a flash, catching her, their parents' blood staining her clothes, iron seeping through to paint her skin as he held her close. Her body had gone limp, and she couldn't move.

Itachi's voice was quiet, belying the anguish carefully hidden in his eyes, but his tears were falling and he couldn't stop them. (he had been ready for anything but this) "You weren't supposed to be back."

" _Why?_ " Her voice came out hoarse, as if she had been screaming.

( _Why had they accepted this death? Why had he—)_

He immediately closed off. His expression shuttered, and his arms tightened around her.

"Kiko-chan… I'm so sorry." There was a despair in the tone— _(do not forgive me—you will never look at me in the same way, I can no longer be your brother, and you can no longer hold my hand or give your smile to me—times are changing and I can no longer be here for you so you must hate me, but if you do, I might shatter. I_ have _shattered.)_

 _Why couldn't he lie?_

One of his hands found its way to her neck, and he pushed chakra through the nerve cluster.

 _(he was breaking, splintering into irreparable parts, the words of his parents ringing in his ears,_ I'm proud of you _, but why? kinslayer, cursed to walk the world with sin-touched hands. surely, anything was better than this gnawing ache in his chest, anything would be better than the blood on his hands, the blood now on his sister.)_

Her body immediately slumped, and he gently laid her down. (Magic built up, crescendoing, the body too fragile to keep it back for long.) And then footsteps, and Sasuke burst into the room.

 _(he was shattering.)_

"Aniki?" His voice wavered, and Itachi almost faltered then and there.

 _Not now—_

 _Not again—_

His mind shut down from the horror.

— _both of his siblings—he was what he feared, all the cruelty of what he strove to reject—gentle, his father called him, but he was a monster—patricide—murderer—the worst kind of stain on humanity. Why had it been left to him? Why did he succeed? Why had he not failed? Surely, anything would have been better than this utter solitude, his rejection of his own family, their rejection of him, orchestrated by a stranger, by himself—surely if there was any good left in the world, it would have intervened before he'd committed such a horrific act._

 _Why was he_ so good _at killing?_

He turned ( _blood on his hands, crimson stains_ ) blank, emotionless, and pinned his brother ( _aniki! play with me—forgive me, Sasuke_ ) with his red eyes, and Sasuke slumped. And Itachi endured the torture of once again killing his family over and over _and over…_

And he watched his heart break as Sasuke ran after him, still asking in that broken voice, still clearly in a state of shock and despair. He turned to him, his face cold, forbidding, pleading _please be scared, please don't ask anything more of me._

 _I'm not sure I have anything left to give—_

And a shape came flying, with all the grace of a panther (magic crackled, finally breaching skin), out of the door pushing Sasuke back, snarling to their brother to run, to _get away._

And Sasuke ran.

 _(he was glad.)_

His sister turned to him with a solemn, almost fierce, look on her face, the one he had promised himself she would never wear again ( _his heart was bleeding, dying, broken and his mind was slowly splintering—he remembered broken sobs in darkness after complete destruction and despair_ ) and she was crying.

They moved, both Sharingans flaring, danced and fought, the deadly beauty of combat never diminished. They still fit together, completing each other, though they had both irrevocably changed in those few moments. And Itachi grieved, pouring out his sadness to her, and she understood, perhaps, (but didn't, because how could she?) and he was drowning, but she was there and somehow he wasn't completely broken, not just yet.

( _he couldn't break, not just yet_ )

And Luna stopped crying, because this was not the time for tears, because every movement was too easy and too hard all at once (she was moving through amber time), because she had seen her parents fall, seen her brother shatter. (and now they were _here_ , opposing each other—perhaps she had _begun_ crying to stave off insanity, its devouring hunger—perhaps she _stopped_ to withstand the breaking, because the other course was to slip into terrifying darkness, to continue weeping and never cease— _why had her (their) parents accepted this betrayal? why had they accepted leaving?_ ) Because this was Itachi, the one who had been there for her since the beginning of _this_ time, the one whom she had pieced together, the one who had threaded her whole, because they were both broken and because they both desperately needed each other.

(and perhaps she understood that crushing despair, perhaps she had seen it before, on a train station bleached white and a too-vivid green, in a boy with too-tied eyes and the objects of Death—)

(perhaps she understood impossible responsibilities and the manipulations of shadow players—)

(perhaps she had stopped her tears and poured the intensity of herself into every attack because she did not want to consider this heartbreak ( _she had loved him, she still loved him, but this irreversible severance had left them on opposite sides, had left her without pieces so integral to herself that she stumbled in a daze of pain—his hands were bloodstained, but weren't they all?_ ) perhaps she stopped in order to fend off overwhelming sadness, perhaps—)

Every blow was defined in a sharp clarity, every action expected and countered and recountered before the body did more than tense. Movement threaded through reality and dream, only half tangible, contact was a feather-breath and reverberated, creating earthquakes.

(It was not that she was anywhere near his level of skill, but she _knew_ him.)

And then they both stopped as Luna ( _Kiko-chan, I think that I have lost myself_ ) stepped forward and embraced him. ( _She still loved him—this is_ betrayal— _why had they knelt in front of death?—she_ still loved him)

(Magic roared with all its repressed intensity, a hurricane with the siblings centered.)

And Itachi clung to her, because she was his lifeline (because he was still a child, because she was _there_ ).

And then he lifted up her head, and she let him because she knew what he was doing ( _she still trusted him, because somehow, horrifyingly, he was still the same brother how had comforted her after the Fox, the same brother who had held her as she wept, how could she but trust him_ ), and he caught her in the Tsukiyomi.

 _There were years and they_ lived _. Perhaps imagine a world at peace—imagine the Fourth and his promise to Konoha—imagine the end to bitterness, imagine celebration—imagine a world they'd always dreamed of, years and years. They grew old together, they laughed, and it was no longer tainted by the acrid scent of desperation. It would be her last gift to her brother._

 _On the top of the Hokage Monument, she embraced him and whispered the an ending to their story._

And Itachi ended it gently, laying her down on the ground, her last words ringing in his ears, and he felt lightened, no longer quite so broken. ( _she could do this one last thing for him before they became enemies_ )

And when he fled, he found the courage to live.

*I*I*

Sasuke was running.

He felt a hot burst of guilt in his chest, guilt restricting his breathing, guilt at the relief that someone else was handling it, guilt at running away and not staying to help, running away and leaving his sister with— _his brother, it could not be true, could not, could not_ , because it was Itachi, and he'd thought (known with absolute certainty) that he'd known him.

— _cold cold cold eyes, murderer, blood splattering from the tanto—_

He ran blindly out of the compound, looking for help, anybody, hysteria twisted time, _how long had he been running?,_ and abruptly slammed into someone.

"Maa, kid, look where you're going." There was a man in a mask with spiky silver hair. Sasuke felt a measure of relief, ANBU were the elites—and then he remembered that Itachi was also a ANBU operative. ( _but he couldn't think about that, he_ couldn't— _nee-san was fighting for him, he had to find help—had looked dead, so so cold and empty and_ frightening)

Sasuke looked up, tearstained face, and the ANBU stiffened minutely.

"You have to help! Nee-san is fighting—" he faltered, he couldn't say the words, that would make so very real. "He killed F-father and M-mother!"

"Where?" The word was spoken sharply, professionally, the laziness suddenly vanishing from the tall frame.

Sasuke pointed back the way he came.

"Uchiha Compound," he choked out, almost a whisper.

The man flared his chakra and vanished in a swirl of leaves. And Sasuke collapsed–the last thing he saw were more ANBU appearing around him.

*I*I*

Kakashi arrived at the Compound silently, entering as a ghost—the only living thing in a cemetery, and he felt sick. It was not the stench of blood ( _and how horrifying that he normalized such horrors, that it had ceased to phase him_ ) it was the silence, the eerie stillness; only crimson moved in slow trails down the streets, staining—

( _he remembered life, he remembered the people filling the Compound with noise, this was — people, this was — place, why was he failing — again?_ )

But there was no time, and he blurred, searching—" _Nee-san is fighting"—_ perhaps he could stop this slaughter, perhaps there was someone left—

 _There_. A shadow vanished over the wall— _No! Too late again, never fast enough, never strong enough_ — _who are they that they have the speed to escape my (his) eyes?—_ but there was a girl, falling, falling— _the brief flash of lightning_ —he wouldn't make it in time— _quiet surprise_ —StOp.

And suddenly he was there, the girl in his arms— _when had he moved? why had he felt such terror that she fell?—_ unconscious, faintly breathing—he grasped her wrist to feel the heartbeat, to assure himself that she was still _there_ —he looked down—

It was her. Five years had passed—

(He had been sure that it had been a dream.)

—he was _afraid_.

*I*I*

Itachi ran to the Hokage.

(they were dogs of war, bred for a sole purpose, and they served a single master)

(sometimes, fleetingly, he resented the bonds that held him to this place, to this leader, too old, too cruel, too tired—sometimes the bonds were all that kept him alive)

(he felt half-alive, some terrible beast called out from the sins of humanity to enact the final horror; he felt numb, what could ever touch him again, there was no one, they were all fading, the bonds he made all broken, _betrayer—_ )

( _Kiko-chan, I think I've lost myself—I can't see the fireflies anymore_ )

Once there he begged, because he couldn't see anyone else die, or he would shatter, he would break, he'd become the monster that people would think he was after this night.

( _he already had_ )

" _Please, please take care of them."_

*I*I*

Sometimes ( _most days_ ), Sarutobi Hiruzen wished that he had died in the Kyuubi's attack. He had chosen his successor with care, but Minato had died, and there was no one else he could trust Konoha to. The title lay heavy across his shoulders—this was an office that wore men down, that brought out the vicious pragmatism they were all disgusted by.

"Report."

The ANBU operative stepped up.

"Preliminary investigation shows that Itachi Uchiha was responsible for the murder of his parents, however reports of the other bodies suggest that there may have been an accomplice. Who that accomplice might be, if he even exists, is unclear. The bodies have been burned according to your orders."

The Hokage looked at him sharply. He had never given that order.

 _Danzo_ , he gritted his teeth, _covering all your bases now, aren't you?_

*I*I*

The shadow stopped, turned, and a glint of red flashed in the dark forest.

(He'd torn himself from the girl when reinforcements arrived, focusing instead on the scent of the shadow, too familiar, too _easy_ and Kakashi dreaded the meeting. _He_ wasn't even trying to conceal his scent, a taunt, and Kakashi wanted to howl.)

"Kakashi-senpai."

Kakashi mentally flinched at the name, at the voice, _he knew him,_ and his eyes tightened for a second at the reminder that Itachi had been under his care. And that he had failed another teammate.

( _How could he be so calm? He had just massacred his clan [his_ pack _]._

 _How could he have missed the signs of a broken mind?_

 _How could he have missed the spiral into insanity?_ )

He had no answers, only lifted his headband, exposing the Sharingan.

In the same moment both shinobi sprung into action. There was no preamble, just the sudden movement.

(( _act out the play, you are kin-slayer, but this is not an act, this is truth, must I show the monster that I am afraid that I've become—senpai—please don't believe me,_ you have to believe me))

(If Itachi's fight with Kiko-chan had been a dance, his fight with Kakashi-senpai was a storm, a clash between two desperate force. The air was filled with anger and broken confusion, chaos and bitter guilt. It was discordant, jarring, and the ground shook with every strike.)

There was no gentleness, to resolution.

Sharingan met Sharingan and the world burned. Jutsus half finished, half abandoned, hasty hand seals forever vying for an advantage, predictions and disruptions, and then it was over.

One mistake, one slip, one look into the bleeding red eyes the Uchiha. (Kakashi had never predicted that he would fight an Uchiha—they were _Konoha_ , they were _teammates—_ he'd never prepared for this situation, _he who had always prepared for any situation_ —)

Itachi held it for two seconds, he didn't have _time_ , he needed to get away before the reinforcements caught up. ( _his eyes were a curse, again and again, how many times had he shattered his soul for the fire that held it in thrall_ ) Kakashi would only be unconscious for a few hours.

But that was all he needed.

( _it was all he could do—he was fading_ )

*I*I*

Kakashi opened his eyes and groaned.

"Senpai?"

Tenzo's voice, the blurry shapes were beginning to become clear. Worry and relief was stark on his subordinate's face, for once without the mask.

"Where… is Itachi?"

"He got away."

"Aa…"

All at once Kakashi felt terribly tired.

"Senpai? Senpai?! Don't fall asleep on me–"

And sweet unconsciousness took him.

* * *

 **A/N:** This is the first turning point (I'm sure you all saw this coming). I was playing around with the idea of having Luna take steps to prevent the Massacre, but I don't think it's possible at this point. She has too little influence and is busy herself with just existing in a world of shinobi. In addition, Itachi has also tried to shield her from the clan's plotting.

(By the way, there's an extra scene at the end if you want to skip the long A/N)

I chose (or rather, Luna chose) to give Itachi at least a few years (albeit in the Tsukuyomi) to be happy, because his story _is_ a tragedy (a Greek tragedy, in which the protagonist is neither a villain nor virtuous man, and _he knows that he isn't_ ). I don't see him as a hero (he murdered his _whole clan,_ including the children and the old—I agree with Itachi, that _is_ an unforgivable crime), but anyone with that much sadness in his heart deserves at least a little peace. Remember this: he was only _thirteen_ (and probably not the most mentally stable.) He had to make a terrible choice and was manipulated by the people he should have been able to trust. I don't condone his actions, but he is still a child, prodigy or not, and his actions reflect those in positions of influence over him. I cannot blame him completely, and I cannot _not_ blame him.

The nine familial exterminations in Ancient China were the most severe form of punishment for capital offenses, most often treason against the Emperor. This is exactly what Itachi carried out. But even in Ancient Asia it was often considered an inhumane act, especially when children were involved (Confucian principles dictated that children should not be held accountable for their guardians' actions). Because of the grave importance of family in many Asian cultures (again, Confucianism had a role in this) and the responsibility of each member to the family, it literally was a fate worse than death, to know that you had, not only committed a grave sin and would be executed, but also failed your family who would suffer for your actions. And Konoha, being originally an alliance between clans, would have rebelled at such a punishment, the clans rising up as the Uchiha demonstrated that going against the Hokage spelled massacre. Konoha does have its own darkness (being the "kindest" village just means that its horrors are just that much more carefully concealed), but there's a difference between hidden tortures and public abominations. Those tend to invite dissent, and in a military state that kind of dissent isn't teniable, thus the need for a scapegoat and loyal executioner: Itachi.

Sorry for the long author's note, I just felt that my thought processes needed to be explained. (Also longest chapter yet! Huzzah!)

Below is Itachi's story.

* * *

 _running_

* * *

And he was running. (He was always running these days, running on fumes that would soon disperse and leave him empty.) The Hashirama trees seemed accusing, shadows menacing in their hostility—

 _(Before the calamity, who were we?)_

This is the beginning:

Wide eyes and a slight wonder at the delicate frailty, touch feather soft, hesitant, on new life. Itachi fell when she looked at him with strange strange eyes (eyes that were not Uchiha but beautiful and terrible all the same). He fell at her first laugh, at her smile— _Imouto_ , he thinks, and it is a promise in his mind—

 _(Why do you weep, small soldier, for those passed?)_

This is the beginning:

Blood and the stench of iron in the air, the cries of the dying and the cloying scent of desperation (despair)— _where was he and why was he there?—what was happening?_ —and a kunai flew too close and the thin thread of blood stitched a cheek.

Then warm warm (ever cold) arms and the apologies in his ears.

(The words fade, crumble to dust and are insubstantial—his nightmares tend more prominent in his mind, and there are days he wakes of grasping—and this too is a promise…)

He didn't forget the sightless eyes, didn't forget how they looked at him and asked _why?,_ didn't forget the feeling of cold, sticky crimson clawing up his leg. But then he saw her and _her_ eyes, and there was a dissonance between this transient reality and that too vivid memory, but he thought that perhaps he could breathe again without scenting iron—

 _(Why do you ask, lost child, without expectance?)_

This is the beginning:

There were ranks upon ranks of black clad shinobi, bowed heads and grimness defining their bodies, and he stood alone, looking up instead of down, as the Fourth spoke of sacrifice and war, of a dreaded glory and devotion, but he could only remember sightless eyes and the disorientation.

Later he walked along the pale markers of the dead and met a snake who answered a question with cold obsession in yellow-slit eyes.

Later still the wind was whistling in his ears and the river was below him when he remembered two pairs of eyes, black and grey, and a promise, so he drew his kunai and resolved to _live_ —

 _(Can you see the dream we sought?)_

It ends like this:

Crimson seeping through the air, and he ran, heart trembling in fear, and held small hands in his own. Then he realized that she was missing, that his sister was gone, but he must stay, must stay for the too-fragile bundle in his arms, must only hope, must fear with a dread that defined the blood in his eyes.

And then the red ceased, abruptly, as sound cut off by metal, and he wondered (desperate, there was a promise he told himself)—

When she came to him that night, he simply held her, and their tragedy swelled with two deaths and a suspicion—

 _(Why must we make enemies of our duality?)_

It ends like this:

With glances and muttered apprehensions, with cold eyes and division straining every step taken, he walked as an outsider to the place where he seeded his loyalty. (It was strangling him—the vines had grown too quickly, climbing the tree and taking nutrients till it was a husk.) Eventually he took to the rooftops, to the shadows, to the unseen places that he might not bear the weight of their fear—

 _(Whose are the commands, little faithful, you would obey?)_

It ends like this:

Orders clashed and he was caught in the middle, curled up with a slow, silent scream tearing his throat. He watched, mute with the memory of pain, for a little boy with wonder in his eyes, with _admiration_ (but he was wrong to think of him as a hero), and she was holding his hand, a sad smile on her face—

 _(For whom will you die; for whom will you kill; for whom will you live?)_

It ends with silence, and he is only watching as his arms lift a bloodied sword.

It ends with silence, and he tilts her eyes, desperate, _(do not) look at me_.

It ends with silence and an eon.

 _(Where is that world you strive for; where are the could-have-beens?)_

He lives an eternity, and she is there with him.

They dream that his weapons gather rust in a forgotten training ground, that their foreheads are unmarked by their devotions; they dream of tasting the time that passes, of watching their brother never lose his faith; they dream of a peaceful funeral when they are both old and as their parents seem to smile when they go up in flames.

It is golden and terribly vivid; so concrete that the vision itself could draw blood.

She stands with him (she must be in opposition, _he is [not] a traitor_ ) and his shoulders no longer shield himself from their world. He leans into her, and she hugs him back. They sit on the Hokage Monument and she whispers the ending to their story, and they are siblings again.

It ends with his death, a quiet death that is expected and _oh so different_ from the fate he'd planned out as repentance, and he blinks back tears as he opens his eyes to iron and spinning spinning red. (But he is set to peace; he can breathe, perhaps, again.)

He sets her down gently, a facsimile of caring (he made a promise that would break him), and leaves. He does not ever look back, even when his body betrays him and turns—

 _(Why does love pierce so deep that he drowns in his own blood?)_

And he was running, again and again, running from gentle smiles and faraway looks, running from and towards peace, running—


	12. vacancy

_vacancy_

* * *

Katsuki skidded around the corner and abruptly Tsukiko _wasn't there_.

(The undefinable panic that had held Tsukiko in a deathgrip had infected him as well. Suddenly, everything seemed too clear, too vivid—everything stood in stark contrast, the air was too dry, the alleyway too small, a dead end, he could have drawn in detail the whorls in the dark wood of the house right next to him—his focus fragmented into a million pieces and wasn't it odd how his breaths came faster and faster, wasn't it odd that he was trembling?)

He turned to Hideshi (he was still there, hadn't vanished, hadn't disappeared). "Where is she?!"

His voice came out too loud, breaking the silence of their harsh, uneven breathing and Hideshi turned to him and he could see the same panic and dread in his teammate's eyes. (Because Kiko was fast but _not that fast_ , not enough to completely disappear on them, not enough for them to _lose track of her_. She hadn't been trying to evade them, _so why was she gone?_ ) Hideshi was silent because he didn't know either, didn't know how to answer the question, didn't know how or why Tsukiko had disappeared. (Katsuki felt a dull blade of fear—Hideshi was a _sensor;_ that he couldn't feel Kiko any more meant that she wasn't within five miles of where they currently were.) The uncertainty was paralyzing.

There was a beat of silence, before Hideshi held up a hand signal: _split and gather intel_. Katsuki reigned in his spiraling thoughts and gave them focus. He nodded sharply and in the next half second, the street was empty again.

Katsuki sprinted west, forcing himself to stop at any place remotely likely to catch Kiko's attention, even though every thought shouted _hurry, hurry, hurry_. Buildings sped by in a blur and he took to the roofs, feeling the claustrophobia was the wall of houses and businesses loomed above him restricting his sight and movement. Training bled through his fear, and his eyes scanned the environment methodically, taking in the maximum amount of information.

A blur caught in the corner of his eyes—ANBU.

(Katsuki felt the dread sink deeper.)

(The fact that he could see them...)

He abandoned his searching, opting to follow the direction of the black-clad forces. He lost sight after a few moments, but it was enough to point him to the area of the disturbance, and he realized with a detached panic that he was drawing closer and closer to the Uchiha Compound. ( _Please, kami, let Tsukiko be safe._ ) (But when had luck ever favored their team? When had luck ever favored any shinobi?)

Katsuki touched down at the entrance to the Compound. ( _Blood, he could smell blood._ )

Someone tried to stop him, bar his way, but he felt a small form barrel into his legs, heard broken sobs and looked down at Sasuke. (He was moving in a haze.) Slowly, he put his arms around the shaking form— _who are you? Uchiha Tsukiko's teammate—_ and watched in numb disbelief as the bodies were hauled out of the Compound and taken into account, the black shrouds hiding dead faces from view; watched and held Sasuke, because that was all he could do now, shielding Kiko's brother from the horrifying sight of his murdered clansmen— _Massacre—Uchiha Itachi, traitor, snapped, fled—_ Katsuki realized with a start that he was also trembling—he couldn't bring himself to ask about his teammate; he was a coward and feared the answer. Instead he stilled and noted with desperation every body, every visage—he was strung too tight and would break soon—there was overwhelming guilt as he felt relief that the next body was not that of his teammate.

"Hey." The voice came from his left, but Katsuki's eyes were still transfixed on the morbid procession of bodies. "You said you were Uchiha Tsukiko's teammate?"

Both Katsuki and Sasuke's heads snapped up to stare at the ANBU operative. They had on a cat mask and a soft voice, and Katsuki noted absentmindedly that they were only an inch or so taller than himself.

"Yes," he replied, hoarse, his voice holding some emotion he did not care to tease out.

"She's in the hospital."

(It could have been his imagination, but he thought that the ANBU softened minutely.)

Relief and horror crashed through him, and he swayed. Sasuke's grip was bruising, and the pain kept him grounded.

"Here." The ANBU operative reached into his uniform and drew out a piece of paper with a seal on it. "Show this to the receptionist, and she should be able to take you to the room."

Katsuki managed to say _thank you_ before swinging Sasuke on his back and flash-stepping to the hospital. (He felt his chakra reserves draining, but for this he could not hesitate.) Along the way he flared his chakra—the alarms had started, and Hideshi would know to head towards the center of the village. Katsuki hoped _desperately_ that he was in range, because he would not wait for his teammate at the hospital for more than a moment—he was too worried, too much about to break, fragment— _Kiko, what did you know? How did you come here and why?_

It was when they were almost at the doors of the hospital that Hideshi dropped next to him, eyes sweeping over his form, Sasuke, and the dried blood that still coated their sandals. (Katsuki had blanched when he had seen the carnage—what sort of _monster_ could kill enough of his own family to make the streets _literally_ run red?)

"Tsukiko—she's in the hospital." And Hideshi didn't ask further.

They went up to the receptionist, and Katsuki gave her the seal and filled out several forms— _name—visiting?—shinobi registration number—team ID_. After staring at them suspiciously and glancing at the forms, she got up and motioned for them to follow her. Sasuke's harsh breathing against his ear kept time to his own erratic heartbeats, and his steps sounded too loud in the almost silence of the hallway. Hideshi was silent, a ghost on his left. The receptionist stopped at the entrance to a hallway.

"Room 24A."

She left before they could say anything. There were no footsteps, and the hallway became incrementally more desolate and morbidly silent

The space was too quiet—this was the closed ward, for ANBU and high risk or vulnerable individuals, probably connected on some level to the ANBU Headquarters. (Once, he would have stared, eyes darting up, down and side to side, to take in every detail, every inch of security, the design and the quiet sounds of medical technology. Funny, then, how even moving his head to trace the receptionist's path back down the way they'd come was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. It wasn't worth getting to see one of the most guarded places in Konoha at the expense of his teammate.)

He hesitated a moment before moving forward to follow Hideshi to Tsukiko's room. Sasuke's shaking grew progressively worse as they approached the room.

The door opened and a iryo-nin stepped out. Katsuki stopped her a little desperately.

"Is she alright?"

He watched the irritation at the interruption chase across her features, the slight tightening of her eyes, the angling of her body away from him, the dismissive tone.

"All her physical injuries have been healed, but the mental damage—we're not sure how or what genjutsu was put on her, but she isn't responding to any external stimulus. It's a waiting game at this point. She will have to come out of the coma on her own."

The medic turned away and disappeared within one of the other rooms.

Katsuki wasn't sure how he felt. The world had yet to stop spinning, twisting itself into delusions and tearing him apart. Hideshi opened the door ( _how could he be so calm?_ ) and Katsuki almost stopped breathing at the sight of his teammate lying too still, too fragile, _too broken_ , on the sheets. Sasuke twisted out of his arms with a too loud " _Nee-san!"_ but Hideshi caught him before he could disturb the tubes and medical equipment connected to Tsukiko.

Sasuke began crying.

Katsuki watched in vague detachment (shock) as Hideshi knelt down to hug Sasuke, still keeping a hold of him, not letting him go to his sister before they knew if they could disturb her. He felt a hundred times heavier, as if they were in a cemetery, as if this were a tomb, as if he too were made of stone. (But he was grateful, he _had_ to be. She was alive; _why did he feel so empty?_ ) Tsukiko looked deathly pale, and her strained intakes of oxygen could hardly be heard through the mask they had over her mouth and nose. Wispy black hair framed her face and made her appear more sickly in contrast. It was strange (wrong) to see her without her dreamy manner, without some expression on her still, still body. Katsuki couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't stop comparing her to his teammate a day ago, when she had twisted gracefully through their opponents, weaving genjutsu and capture wire around them. She had been a thousand times more alive then, a thousand times more real than the ghost who now took her place...

Gradually he forced himself to relax and breathe easier. The other sounds and sensations that he had been blocking out filtered back in slowly. Sasuke's sobs had subsided, the recoil from the fear and adrenaline crashing down on his six-year-old body and dragging him down into unconsciousness, and Hideshi deposited the small Uchiha into a chair next to the hospital bed.

"Can you take care of him? I would but…" Hideshi grimaced, and Katsuki wondered how he could look so calm.

He found himself nodding (Team Four all knew vaguely what Hideshi's home life used to be like, and he was currently living in a small, one-room apartment—not a place for a six-year-old.) "I have room. Kaa-san wouldn't mind."

"Don't worry about the paperwork; I'll take care of it."

The door closed before Katsuki could form a response.

He sat down heavily on the other chair in the room, watching the Uchiha siblings. Hideshi had all but fled—forget about staying calm, he was _running away_. Suppressing his reactions by doing necessary work.

Goddammit. Why did Kiko have to be the emotionally healthy one of the group?

 _(Why did she have to be the one in an unbreakable coma?)_

*I*I*

"Tsukiko—she's in the hospital."

It was at the sight of Sasuke and his distressed, draining chakra that he knew that something was terribly wrong (or rather, it was then that the anticipation of disaster became reality). There was no reason for Katsuki to be carrying Sasuke. (The Uchiha were a clan, and they took care of their own. Even if Kiko was in the hospital, even if Sasuke's parents were not available—but what could have made the _Clan Head_ unavailable?—the rest of the clan would have taken Sasuke in.) There was no reason for Sasuke to have blood on his sandals, for him to be so eerily silent. (He knew how Sasuke cried—loud and messily, a call for attention.)

Hideshi followed and didn't press. (He feared to follow his own assumptions to their bloody end.)

And then the nurse said _genjutsu_ , and the world inverted. (Because where would Itachi be but here, with his siblings? Wasn't it odd that he was absent? Remember when they'd come back from their disastrous C-rank, how the Uchiha heir was almost inseparable from his sister's side? Remember how he doted on Sasuke? Remember—)

(Because Kiko was an Uchiha, and there _were_ no unbreakable genjutsus.)

(No unbreakable genjutsus except those of the Uchiha.)

Hideshi trembled. (Because if was no longer safe for the children of the clan head to stay in the Compound…)

A moment of eternity passed as he looked at Kiko's too still form.

Then Sasuke broke the silence with too loud footsteps, rushing towards the bed. Hideshi caught him holding him close, all too grateful for the excuse to shift his attention away from the still figure on the bed.

The next hour passed in a blur of comforting a distraught child while trying to keep from breaking down himself.

(His mind shied away from defining the actual events that could have put Kiko in the hospital.)

Sasuke. He could focus on Sasuke—if his Clan wasn't safe (wasn't there—) then he and Katsuki needed to gain custody in order to keep Sasuke with them, at least until Kiko woke up.

He managed an excuse to Katsuki as he fled the room.

Suddenly he felt immensely glad that he had applied for emancipation a year and a half ago. (Tsukiko had helped him then, and he wondered—) He shot toward the third level of the Administration Building; he would have to file a temporary guardian form (as Shigeto-sensei had done on his behalf) and if this ended up a custody battle (but surely, Sasuke's Clan…) he would need allies—Sasuke was the Clan Head's child, no matter how much he seemed neglected at times.

(But who would side with a pair of insignificant chuunin?)

Hideshi gritted his teeth. The blaring alarms (why were they sounding—what had truly happened at the Compound?) were setting his nerves on end.

He slid in through the window. (Shigeto-sensei had always disabled the seals to get in through the more obscure route; Sensei hated crowds.)

"What are you doing? Konohagakure is in lockdown!"

" _Quiet_." Hideshi found that his voice was hoarse, irritated, and dangerously quiet. "I need to file a guardianship claim before tomorrow morning, so I'd _appreciate_ it if you stayed the fuck out of my way."

Maybe it was the still bloodstained coat he was wearing, but the chuunin manning the desk wisely kept quiet and didn't disturb him. He flitted to the cabinets and took the forms both for temporary and long term guardianship. Pulling a small brush from an inside pocket, he cut open his palm with the small blade at the end. Dipping the brush into the blood, he filled out the forms.

(By filling it out in chakra imprinted blood, he was held responsible as the legal witness. It was a trick Sensei had taught them to speed up paperwork that could take months—protocol from the reign of the Nidaime that had survived and been forgotten, and he was grateful for any loophole at this point. He didn't know what could happen to Sasuke if they did not take custody. Hideshi was )

The temporary form had _Hiraide Katsuki_ on it, and the long term one _Uchiha Tsukiko_ as the guardians. The requirements were almost too easy—shinobi registration number, dates of birth, clan affiliation, relationship with the minor, etc., etc.

And then the explanation.

 _Living situation at home unsustainable and mentally scarring._

He didn't know much more than that.

It would have to be enough; he'd come back later and change if it was needed.

By filling out the forms, he was authorizing unexpected visits from a representative of the sub-branch of the Registrar. He would need to warn Katsuki when he had better mental composure. They were presumably going up against a clan to gain custody—to his knowledge it had only been done thrice before. Emancipation was more common.

But until Tsukiko woke (and she _would_ wake) they had to keep Sasuke safe, even from his own family if need be.

(Konoha should have ingrained the foremost loyalty, that to its _government,_ deeper, right into her children's blood and bones. she would learn all too well the consequences of that oversight.)

* * *

 **A/N:** It's been awhile. There were several frustrations with this chapter, frustrations I still haven't resolved. But no matter, sorry for keeping you waiting.

On somewhat of a side note, Kishimoto really did an excellent job isolating Itachi—his genin teammates were killed or quit, he got stuck with a sensei that cared little to none about him, and he distanced himself from the clan. You almost _have_ to feel sorry for the fourteen (thirteen?) year old.


	13. in between

_in between_

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry about the wait—I was out of the country and couldn't find the time to write. I'm also thinking about rewriting or hard editing the first twelve chapters… I'm not sure that I'm completely satisfied with them. If I did, should I do it in a different "story" or should I just go back and update chapters?

* * *

 _And there was peace_.

She floated in between the hazy darkness of the damaged mind and the odd lightness of the train station.

(" _Her vitals are failing—get her on life support!" "What happened to her?!" "No response, it's as if her mind is completely gone." "Uchiha Itachi? No wonder—" "There's no guarantee that she'll wake up."_ )

 _Was it crueler to show what could-have-been and know that it would never happen?_

At times she would be back in that golden reality, a reality far more true than the tragedy that was to define her. A tragedy that was concocted—forced onto the surface of a world with a boy who had none to turn to and a family that suffered in silence. At times she found herself at the summit of that mountain watching the skies turn too vivid colors, whispering truths to her brother. At times she was in the train, watching the boy of destiny stumble in and introduce himself, the compartment filling with comfortable noise. At times she was held again in her mother's arms in (the Compound) (Ottery St. Catchpole). At times she was in the train station, no longer empty.

(" _Hey, Kiko, I contacted the blond pariah that you were so interested in. You weren't very subtle, but then I guess you of all people wouldn't particularly care if you were associated with him. Recover soon, okay? He's probably wondering where his mysterious benefactor went."_ )

 _How do you fragment a soul?_

She was Uchiha Tsukiko, daughter of Mikoto and Fugaku, sister to Itachi and Sasuke, teammate to Fujino Hideshi and Hiraide Katsuki, shinobi of the Leaf. (And also: sister to a traitor and a broken boy, orphan, anomaly.)

She was Luna Lovegood, daughter of Pandora and Xenophilius, friend of Ginny and Harry and Hermione and Ron and Neville, student of Hogwarts, resident of Great Britain. (And also: daughter of a madman and a scientist, not-quite-there, anomaly.)

She was neither, nameless and terrible and kind.

She was both, odd and perceptive and _human_.

(She was named for a goddess, and this was not her world.)

(" _Hideshi won't talk to you, so I guess it's up to me to do that… We're not coping well. At least, he isn't—I sorta have to, what with taking care of your brother and all. You were always the better adjusted one of us all. Kami, that's so weird to think about, considering—well, everything. Point it, we kinda need you…"_ )

 _Tell me again the story of Death and the Three Brothers._

 _It goes like this:_

 _Death was at the river, the site of a drowning, when three wizards with the Sight arrived on its banks. The eldest brother said to the others,_ there is a disturbance here _. The middle child knelt down on the shore and said,_ yes, a soul in despair _. And the youngest parted the waters and knelt down beside the body of the child and wept._

 _When Death, the traveler worn weary from the road, saw the three brothers, a few frayed threads of destiny intertwined around that scene, hiding it from time. And Death made himself known to the brothers, who were not surprised._ (Before there was a train station, it was a river, that transient, unreal place.) _And Death said to them,_ **who are you who dare to cross between the realms of the living and the dead?**

 _The youngest replied,_ how could we not, when we heard the child weeping?

 _And the threads of destiny thickened into chains and held the four beings captive as Death himself strode forward._ **For those who cross between worlds** , _said Death_ , **there is always a price** _ **.**_

 _He gave them the Wand, the Ring, and the Cloak. The eldest took the Wand, felt the power coursing through his body and knew he would do great and terrible things. The middle child took the Ring, saw without seeing the souls who had been, who were, and who would be around him, and knew he would live surrounded by the dead and the yet-to-be. And the youngest took the Cloak, but with suspicion, the words of Death ringing in his head, and knew he would disappear from the world someday._

 _Death told them then,_ **they must not be separated** _ **.**_

 _But only the youngest listened, because there are some forces in the world that no human nor wizard should ever touch, because there are some forces in the world that cause the loss of all reason. The Hallows were never meant for mortal hands, you see, never meant to fall._

 _(but the three brothers had never been_ truly _mortal)_

 _The eldest became the greatest duelist in the world and left his brothers for glory and fame. The middle child became a Seer and drew the troubled to him as they sought council. And the youngest stayed in their childhood home, with their parents and lived quietly. He had pleaded with the others before they had left, had urged them to remember the words of Death, but they had looked at him, not understanding his terror, and said,_ why would Death have given them to us separately then?

 _The youngest stayed and listened and heard. When the eldest brother was killed, he went to take back the wand, but it had already been lost. When the next brother become the spirits that surrounded him, he traveled to his house to find the stone, only to discover it ransacked and burned down. And finally, when he returned to the river on the day of his death, he met the apparition that had torn his family apart and asked,_ why?

 _But there was no answer, and he too faded to nought._

 _Tell me the truth._

 _Tell me reality._

 _It did (not) happen. It was inevitable. The story has been twisted beyond recognition._

 _Instead let me tell you the story of the boy of destiny and a girl who lived outside of time._

(" _I don't know who you are, or how you saw that night. But—"_ )

"Luna."

She marveled at the voice, at the sudden clearing of her mind, at the boy with green eyes.

"Hello, Harry."

And it was the train station again, as if she had never left, save for the boy whose demeanor had not yet reached the all-consuming weariness of before. The white devoured all color and impurity from the undefinable space, and Luna wondered at it. (It was so different from the golden reality that she had dreamed for her brother; one too harsh, too tangible and the other barely there, an unreality.)

And then it flickered, suddenly filled with grey shades of her clansmen, that silent procession. Luna blinked and the white walls restored themselves.

She looked down at herself, at the shinobi who had become a part of her, and Uchiha Tsukiko looked at the Shinigami with suspicion and fear and dread.

(The Sharingan spun and spun reflecting the Fox, the moon, the seal—)

(" _I don't know who sent the flowers." "Well it wasn't either of us, and I can't remember her having an admirer." "Sasuke?" "He'd get her tomatoes, not flowers." "White camelia." "What?" "That's the flower. It means waiting." "You don't think it's a threat, do you?" "It's not a particularly threatening flower." "So no."_ )

At times the Hallows manifested: the cloak shifting around her slight figure, the ring on the second finger of her right hand, the wand a heavy weight in her left hand. The train station flickered: she was there, she was an observer to the shades of those souls who boarded the train, she was alone, Harry was in front of her, green eyes professing an almost worry— _Luna?_ —with a desperation that fit too well with the weariness, she was alone, she was alone, _she was alone, aloneALONEALONE_.

(Luna knew loneliness, knew how to count the silent breaths in bed after [the incident] and before Ginny, knew the silence that came with a thousand unsaid words and too many forgotten memories.)

(Luna knew loneliness, knew how the loudest rooms were also the emptiest, knew how dull it was to walk into a classroom, the library, the halls, and be invisible.)

(Luna knew loneliness, knew how the train station bleached even the others to shadows, knew how Harry had looked at her and only half realized she was there.)

At times the Hallows manifested: the cloak on her shoulders an untenable burden, the ring on her finger preventing her from lifting her hand because of the weight, the wand in her hand a white-hot metal rod she could not let go of. The train station flickered, and through it she could see the Uchiha Compound ( _blood and her family, her clan, and dead_ dead _dead_ ) and Hogwarts ( _Death Eaters in the school, keep hidden, keep hope, keep running_ ). Through the train station were glimpses of other realities—Sasuke _alone_ ( _she would have never left him alone, abandoned_ ) collapsed in the middle of a blooded street, images of a massacre flashing beneath his eyes, then surrounded by strangers with cold _cold_ eyes and calculation; the cellar opened and an elf Apparating them out to freedom, of a funeral next to the sea and the child of destiny walking to his death; her teammates, Katsuki staying genin, growing bitter, reckless, felled through a brace of kunai he'd rushed into, Hideshi as chuunin, fading to shadows, losing both loyalty and faith; her brothers, Itachi fighting almost in darkness, his eyes bleeding, Sasuke consumed by vengeance for the dead who haunted him; Hogwarts in the eve of its most terrible moment—George with a hole in his head that would never close, Fred, laughing, dead, Percy, sobbing, saying _this was not meant to be_ , Ginny growing old, tired, a sad smile as she visited her grave, Ginny growing old, radiant, holding her hand as she counted the stars again—

Perhaps she stayed an eon in the train station, alone. Perhaps it had not been alone, perhaps green eyes or the shades of the Uchiha. Perhaps these were all dreams, perhaps—

(" _Wake up, Nee-san!" muffled sobbing "please…"_ )

 _Who was she?_

(" _You've been asleep for so long…"_ )

 _Who was she?_

(" _You have to wake up!"_ )

 _Who was she?_

(did it matter who she was?)

Uchiha Tsukiko. Luna Lovegood. Uchiha-luna-tsukiko-lovegood—she was named for the moon, always, always—named for a goddess—not this world— _the threads of destiny are not immutable—_ wasn't it funny how they couldn't see what she saw—wasn't it lonely—lovely—the Deathly Hallows—not quite human—

 _Darkness again._

Grey eyes snapped open.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed! The next chapter should delve into what happened while Luna was unconscious.


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